IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


Zk 

^ 


// 


A 


f/. 


% 
^ 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


^  IIIIM 


1^  1^ 

^    MS. 


2.0 

1.4    IIIIII.6 


V] 


<^ 


/] 


^ 


W 


/A 


'/ 


Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


33  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  14580 

(716,  872-4503 


4v 


^ 


•SJ 


4\^ 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


;\ 


\ 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


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n 


a 


n 


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10X 

14X 

18X 

22X 

26X 

30X 

/ 

12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


aire 

i  details 
lues  du 
t  modifier 
ger  une 
B  filmage 


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to  the  generosity  of: 

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1/ 
u6es 


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shall  contain  the  symbol  ^^>  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimde  sont  filmtis  en  commenpant 
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dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
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d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidie  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  (e 
cas:  le  symbole  — ►signifie  "A  SUIVRE  ",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN  ". 


aire 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
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beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
filmds  A  des  taux  de  reduction  diff6rents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clich6,  il  est  film6  d  partir 
fie  I'anole  sup6rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
ut  dA  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  lo  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


by  errata 
ned  to 

pnt 

une  pelure, 

fapon  d 


1 

2 

3 

32X 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

A.  S 


muNas  Hi  ^atrUK. 


■•' 


— ^■■^^r- 


y 


& 


# 


^i 


i 


THE 


RIVALS  OF    ACADIA, 


I ,] 


AN 


&irt  stotfi 


or 


TBB   IffBW   WORLB. 


When  two  authorities  are  up, 
Neither  supreme,  how  soon  confusien 
May  enter  'twixt  the  gap  of  both,  and  take 
The  ont  by  the  other. 

Shakspeark. 


WELLS    AND    JLILLY,    COURT-STREET. 


1827. 


i 
1 

1 

' 

1 

! 

1            1 

I 

J 

li'    . 

. 

-^i»«P«WJ»W»i^r'''— Wff-I 


\A 


.\ 


/ll 


..^-.ylTi'llili 


I   I1<il1lll      Hill 


TU£ 


RIVALS   OF^    AriAiiiA 


^t  tt-^tFO 


eyes  still  followed  the  track  of  the  vessel,  though 
Ills  countenance  wore  that  abstracted  air,  which 
shewed  his  thoughts  were  detach  3d  from  the  pass- 

2 


DISTRICT  OF  MASSACHUSETTS,  TO  WIT: 

District  Clerks  Office, 

BE  IT  REMEMBERED,  that  on  the  twenty-sixth   day  of  January,  A.  D. 

1827,  in  the  fifty-first  yrar  of  the  iHdejjendence  of  the  United  States  of  America, 

Well*  and  Lillv  of  the  said  district,  have  deposited  iu  this  Offlci    the  Title  of  a 

Book,  the  Right  whereof  they  claim  as  Proprieturs.  in  the  Words  tollowiing,  to  wit  i 

*  The  Rival*  of  Acadia,  an  Old  Story  of  the  New  World. 

When  two  aiithnrities  are  up. 
Neither  supreme,  how  soon  contusion  ~. 

May  enter  'twixt  the  gap  of  both,  and  take 
The  one  by  the  other.  Shakspeare," 

In  conformity  to  the  Act  of  the  Congress  of  the  I'nite*)  States,  entitled  •'  All 
Act  for  the  eni-ouragement  of  Leamint^.  by  securing  'he  Copies  of  Majis.  Chartf, 
and  Books,  to  the  Authors  and  Proprietors  of  luch  Copies,  during  the  Tum-s  tli«re- 
in  mentioned;"  and  also  to  an  Art,  entitle*!.  '  An  act  supplementury  to  hu  Act, 
entitled,  '  An  Act  for  the  encouragement  of  Lenniinp,  hj  securing  the  Copies^  or 
Maps,  Charts,  and  Books,  to  the  Authors  and  Proprierors  of  «uch  Copies  diirine 
the  times  therein  mentioned,'  atwl  extetKling  the  Benefits  thereof  to  the  Ar»s  ol 
Designing,  Engtavii^g,  and  Etching  Historical,  atMl  other  Pinnts " 

JNO    W.   DAVIS. 
Clerk  of  the  Di^rict  of  Matac/iusetts. 


\A 


\^' 


.^^..iM.. 


■vt  im''"^  ji^^jfcAaj£-jtija*ii« 


THE 


RIVALiS   OF   ACADIA* 


«. 


CHAPTER  Z. 


h 

I' 


Kar  en  th'  horizon's  verge  appears  a  speck— 
A  spot — a  innst — a  sail — an  armed  deck  ! 
Their  little  bark  hermen  of  watch  descry, 
And  ampler  canvas  woos  the  wind  fro».i  high. 

Lord  Btroik. 


On  a  bright  day  in  the  summer  of  J  643,  a  light 
pleasure-boat  shot  gaily  across  the  harbor  of  Bos- 
ton, laden  with  a  merry  party,  whose  cheerful  voi- 
ces were  long  heard,  mingling  with  the  ripple  of 
the  waves,  and  the  music  of  the  breeze,  which  swel- 
led the  canvas,  and  bore  them  swiftly  onward.  A 
group  of  friends,  who  had  collected  on  the  shore  to 
witness  their  departure,  gradually  dispersed,  till,  at 
length,  a  single  individual  only  remained,  whose 
eyes  still  followed  the  track  of  the  vessel,  though 
his  countenance  wore  that  abstracted  air,  which 
i^hewcd  his  thoughts  were  detached  from  the  pass- 

2 


(*J 


14 


RIVALS    UF   ACADIA. 


ing  scene.  He  seemed  quite  unconFcions  of  tlit- 
silence  thai  siicceeded  this  transient  bustle,  and  fi 
low  murmur,  wliicli  soon  began  ••!  sj>re;id  aluiifr  ibc 
shore,  was  eijually  disrejiardL-d.  Suddenly  a  con- 
fused sound  of  many  voices  burst  upon  his  car,  and 
hurried  steps,  as  of  persons  in  jdnrm  and  agitation, 
at  once  aroused  him  from  liis  reverie.  At  the  same 
moment,  a  hand  was  laid  heavily  on  his  shoulder, 
and  a  voice  exclaimed,  with  earnestness, 

"Are  you  insensible,  Arthur  Stanhope,  at  a  mo- 
ment, when  every  man's  life  is  in  jeopardy  .''" 

"My  father!"  re^ilicd  the  young  man,  "  what  is 
the  meaning  of  all  this  excitement  and  confusion.^" 

"  Do  you  not  know  ?""  demanded  the  other;  "  a* 
strange  sail  is  approaching  our  peaceful  coast;  and, 
see !  they  have  unfurled  the  standard  of  popish 
France." 

"It  is  true,  by  heaven  !"  exclaimed  young  Stan- 
hope; *'  and,  look,  father,  yonder  boat  is  flying  be- 
fore them ;  this  is  no  time  to  gaze  idly  on ;  we 
must  hasten  to  their  rescue." 

The  vessel,  which  produced  po  much  alarm,  was. 
in  fact,  a  French  ship  of  considerable  force,  appa- 
rently well  manned,  and  armed  for  offensive  or  de- 
fensive operations.  The  national  flag  streamed 
gaily  on  the  wind,  and,  as  it  anchored  just  against 
Castle  Island,  the  roll  of  the  drum,  and  the  shrill 
notes  of  the  fife,  were  distinctly  heard,  and  men 
wrere  seen  busied  on  deck,  as  if  preparing  for  some 
important  action.    The  little  bark,  already  men- 


i  ' 


IV 


wttaMtikauMMiA^ 


IMVALS    01'    AC4U1A. 


15 


onsriouH  ol'  (lie 
nt  l)(i8tlo,  und  a 
spr'jMti  alnii;^  tlic 
■liiultUiMly  a  cou- 
pon his  our,  and 
T\  and  atliilation, 
t}.  At  the  same 
on  his  shoulder, 
tncss, 

uhopc,  at  a  nio- 
iopardy  ?" 
p;  man,  "  what  is 
and  confusion  ?" 
J  the  other ;  "  a 
ceful  coast;  and, 
idard  of  popish 


ed  young  Stan- 
3oat  is  flying  be- 
ze  idly  on ;  we 

nuch  alarm,  was. 

ble  force,  appa- 
offensive  or  de- 
flag  streamed 
red  just  against 
,  and  the  shrill 
leard,  and  men 
paring  for  some 
{,  already  mcn- 


^e^ 


tioncd,  was  tilled,  chiefly,  with  ft  males  and  child- 
ren, bound,  on  an  excursion  of  pleasure,  to  an  isl- 
and in  the  bay  ;  and  their  terror  was  extreme,  on 
thus  encounteruig  an  armed  vessel  of  the  French, 
who  had,  on  many  occasions,  shewn  hostdity  to  the 
colonists,  "^rhe  l)<»at  instantly  tacked,  and  crowd- 
ing sail,  as  much  as  prudence  would  {)ermit,  steer- 
ed across  the  harbor  towards  (lovernor's  Island. 
But  it  had  evidcinly  become  on  object  of  interest 
or  curiosity  to  the  Trench  ;  their  attefition  seemed 
wholly  engrossed  by  it,  and  presently  a  boat  was 
lowered  to  the  water,  and  an  ofliccr,  with  several 
of  the  (;rew  sprang  into  it,  and  rowed  swiftly  from 
the  ship  s  nido.  Tliey  itnmediately  gave  chase  to 
the  ph'asure-boat,  which  was  however  considerably 
ahead,  and  so  ably  nmnaged,  that  she  kept  clear 
her  distance  ;  and  with  all  the  muscular  strength, 
and  nautical  skill  of  the  enemy,  he  found  't  impos- 
sible to  gain  upon  her. 

In  the  mean  tim«!,  the  alarm  had  spread,  and 
spectators  of  every  age,  and  either  sex,  thronged 
the  shore,  to  witness  this  singular  pursuit.  The 
civil  und  military  authorities  prepared  for  defence, 
should  it  prove  necessary  ;  a  battery,  which  protect- 
ed the  harbor,  was  hastily  manned,  and  the  militia 
drawn  up,  in  rank  and  file,  with  a  promptitude,  not 
often  displayed  by  the  heroes  of  a  train-band  com- 
pany. For  several  years,  no  foreign  or  internal  ene- 
my had  disturbed  the  public  repose,  and  the  for- 
ijficctioQs  on  Castle  Island  gradually  fell  into  de- 


J':^':'-T''^: 


liijirn  iin.i 


-■'''^'«ij^>*>yy'n^?^fi^,'^'*i'ip\f^j^ft'  ^ 


16 


niVALS   OV   ACADIA. 


cay ;  and,  from  motives  of  economy,  at  tliis  tinir 
not  a  single  piece  of  artillery  was  mountcil,  or  a 
soldier  stationed  there.  The  enemy,  of  course,  had 
nothing  to  oppose  his  progress,  should  he  choose  to 
anchor  in  the  inmost  waters  of  the  bay. 

Governor's  Island,  however,  at  that  niomrnt,  be- 
(•anic  the  centre  of  anxiety,  and  every  eye  was  fix- 
»}d  upon  the  boat    which  rapidly  neared  the  shore. 
Tlie  governor,  as  was  often  his  custom,  had  on  tha! 
day  retired   there,  with  liis  family  :  and,  attended 
only  by  a  few  servants,  his  person  was  extremely 
insecure,  should  the   French  meditate  any  sinister 
design.     In    this  emergency,  three  shallops  were 
filled  wiih  armed  men,  to  sail   for  the  protection  of 
the  chief  magistrate,  and  ascertain  the  intentions  of 
the  French.     Young  Stanhope  was  invested  with 
ihe  command  of  this  little  force  ;  and  perhaps  there 
was  no  man  in  the  colony,  who  would  have  con- 
ducted the  enterprize  with  more  boldness  and  ad- 
dress.    He  had  entered  tiie  English  navy  in  boy- 
hood ;  and,  after  many  years  of  faithful  service, 
was  rapidly  acquiring  rank  and  distinction,  when 
the  unhi.ppy  dissensions  of  the  limes  threw  their 
blighting  influence  on  his  prospects,  and  disappoint- 
ed his  well-founded  hopes  of  still  iiigher  advance- 
ment in  his  profession.     His  father,   an  inflexible 
Puritan,  fled  to  New-England  from  the  persecution 
of  a  church  which  he  abhorred,  and,  with  the  ma- 
levolence of  narrow-minded  bigotry,  the  heresy  of 
the  parent  \\as  punished,  by  dismissing  the  son 


mfrnfm^  ti^wmf^i 


niVALS   OF    ACADIA. 


n 


y,  at  this  tini<' 
!  mounted,  or  u 
f,  of  course,  had 
uld  he  choose  to 
bay. 

luit  niomrnt,  be- 
ery eye  was  fix- 
eurcd  the  shore, 
[oni,  had  on  tha! 
;  and,  attended 
I  was  extremely 
ate  any  sinister 
3  shallops  were 
he  protection  of 
the  intentions  of 
IS  invested  with 
jd  perhaps  there 
ould  have  con- 
oldness  and  ad- 
h  navy  in  boy- 
aithful  service, 
stinction,  when 
lies  threw  their 
and  disappoint- 
igher  advance- 
,   an  inflexible 
he  persecution 
,  with  the  ma- 
,  the  heresy  of 
issrng  the  son 


t*. 


iVoin  that  honorable  station,  which  his  valour  had 
Mttnined.  Deeply  wounded  in  spirit,  Arthur  Stan- 
hope rctuc'd  from  the  service  of  his  country,  but  he 
<:arii('d  with  him,  to  a  distant  lai  ,  the  aHection 
and  esteeuj  of  his  brother  oUicers, — a  solace,  which 
misfortune  can  never  wreat  from  a  noble  and  virtU' 
uus  mind. 

On  the  present  occasion,  Stanhope  made  his  ar- 
ran«j;('n)ents  with  coolness  and  precision,  and  re- 
ceived i'roin  every  one,  the  most  prompt  and  zeal- 
ous assistance.  The  alarm,  which  the  appearance 
of  iho'  French  at  first  excited,  had  gradually  sub- 
sided ;  but  still  there  were  so  many  volunteers  in 
the  cause,  that  it  was  diiricult  to  prevent  the  shal- 
lops from  l)ein«»  overloaded.  Constables  with  their 
batons,  and  soldiers,  with  fixed  bayonets,  guarded 
tile  place  of  (Mubarkation,  till,  at  a  given  signal,  the 
boats  were  loosed  from  their  moorings,  and  glided 
i^ently  over  the  waves.  A  loud  shout  burst  from, 
the  spectators,  which  was  succeeded  by  a  stillness 
so  profomid,  that,  for  several  moments,  the  measur- 
ed dash  of  the  ours  was  distinctly  heard  on  shore. 
An  equal  silence  prevailed  on  board  the  shallops, 
which  were  rowed  in  exact  unison,  while  tiie  men, 
wiio  occupied  them,  sat  erect  and  motionless  as 
aiJtomntons,  their  fire-arms  glancing  in  the  bright 
siui-shine,  and  their  eyes  occasionally  turnin^g  with 
defiance  towards  the  supposed  enemy. 

Arthur  Stanhope  stood  on  the  stern  of  the  prin- 
ripnl  vessel,  ami  beside  him  Mr.  Gibbons,  a  yoang 


.>y<flih>wij^> 


•«l»« 


'mmr 


'w   mg  rinriiwui 


mtmmm 


Id 


BIVALS  OF  ACADIA. 


i    11 


y 


man,  who  watched  the  progress  of  the  pleasure- 
boat  with  eager  solicitude, — for  it  contained  his 
mother  and  sisters.  It  had  then  nearly  reached  the 
island  ;  their  pursuers,  probably  in  despair  of  over- 
taking them,  had  relaxed  their  efforts,  i  nd  rested 
on  their  oars,  apparently  undecided  what  course  to 
follow. 

"  They  are  observing  us,"  said  Stanhope's  com- 
panion, pointing  to  the  French,  "  and  I  doubt  they 
will  return  to  the  protection  of  their  ship,  and 
scarce  leave  us  the  liberty  of  disputing  the  way 
with  them."  ^ 

"They  will  consult  their  prudence,  in  doing  so," 
replied  Stanhope,  "  if  their  intentions  are  indeed 
hostile,  as  we  have  supposed." 

"If!"  returned  the  other,  "why  else  should  they 
give  chase  to  one  of  our  peaceable  boatc,  in  that 
rude  manner  ?  But,  thank  heaven !"  he  added,  joy- 
fully, "  it  is  now  safe ;  se;. !  my  mother  has  this 
moment  sprung  on  shore,  with  her  frightened  band 
of  damsels  and  children !  ah  !  I  think  they  will  not 
now  admire  the  gallant  Frenchmen,  as  they  did  last 
summer,  when  La  Tour's  gay  lieutenant  was  here, 
with  his  com{>liments  and  treaties  !" 

**  I  begin  to  think  yonder  vessel  is  from  the  same 
quarter,"  said  Arthur,  thoughtfully  ;  "  Mons.  de  la 
Tour,  perhaps,  wishes  to  renew  his  alliance  with  us, 
or  seeks  aid  to  carry  on  his  quarrel  with  Mons. 
d'Aulney,  his  rival  in  the  government  of  Acadia." 
**  God  forbid !"  said  a  deep,  rough  voice,  which 


'J 
I 


RIVALS   OF   ACADIA. 


10 


)f  the  pleasurc- 
it  contained  his 
larly  reached  the 
despair  of  over- 
Forts,  ind  rested 
1  what  course  to 

Stanhope's  com- 
ind  I  doubt  they 
their  ship,  and 
sputing  the  way 

ce,  in  doing  so," 
itions  are  indeed 

else  should  they 
e  boats,  in  that 
he  added,  joy- 
mother  has  this 
frightened  band 
nk  they  will  not 
,  as  they  did  last 
enant  was  here. 

from  the  same 
"  Mons.  de  la 
lliance  with  us, 
el  with  Mons. 
ent  of  Acadia.'- 
;h  voice,  which 


proceeded  from  the  helmsman,  "  that  we  should 
have  any  fellowship  with  those  priests  of  the  devil, 
those  monks  and  friars  of  popish  France." 
.^  •'  Spoke  like  an  oracle,  my  honest  fellow  !"  said 
I  Gibbons,  laughing  ;  "  it  is  a  pity  that  your  zeal  and 
discernment  should  not  be  rewarded  by  some  office 
of  public  trust." 

"  Truly,  master  Gibbons,  we  have  fallen  upon 
€vil  days,  and  the  righteous  no  longer  flourish,  like 
green  bay  trees,  in  the  high  places  of  our  land  ;  but 
though  cast  out  of  mine  honorable  office,  there  arc 
fnany  who  can  testify  to  the  zeal  of  my  past  ser- 
vices." 

"  I  doubt  not  there  are  many  who  have  cause  to 
remember  it,"  returned  Gibbons,  with  a  smile ;  "  but 
fcear  a  little  to  the  leeward,  unless  you  have  a  mind 
to  convert  yonder  papists,  by  a  few  rounds  of  good 
powder  and  shot." 

This  short  dialogue  was  broken  off,  by  an  unex- 
pected movement  of  the  French,  who,  after  linger- 
ing, as  in  doubt,  at  some  distance  from  the  island, 
JBuddenly  recommenced  rowing  towards  it,  and  at 
Ithe  same  time  struck  up  a  lively  air  on  the  bugle, 
^which  floated  cheerily  over  the  waves.  Soon  after, 
their  keel  touched  the  strand,  close  by  the  pleasure- 
)oat,  which  was  safely  moored,  and  deserted  by 
every  individual.  The  principal  oflScer  then  leap- 
ted  on  shore,  and  walked  leisurely  towards  the  house 
bf  governor  Winthrop.  Stanhope  aiso  landed  in  a 
short  time,  and,  with  Mr.  Gibbons,  proceeded  di- 

I 


'»■  "llllll  ipl  I 


•?»P" 


'fstm 


iU 


IIIVALS    OF   ACADIA. 


!  'J 


t   I    k 


I'      t 


^^  \ 


lectly  to  t!ie  govornor's.  The  mansion  exhibited 
no  appearance  of  alarm;  the  windows  were  thrown 
open  to  admit  the  cooling  sea-breeze,  children 
sported  around  the  door,  and  cheerful  voices  with- 
in announced,  that  the  stranger,  who  had  just  pre- 
ceded them,  was  not  an  unwelcome  guest.  He 
was  conversing  apart  with  Mr.  Winthrop,  when 
they  entered,  and  they  instantly  recognized  in  him, 
a  lieutenant  of  M.  de  la  Tour,  who  had,  on  a  for- 
mer occasion,  been  sent  to  negociate  a  treaty  with 
the  magistrates  of  Boston.  He  was  believed  to  be 
a  Hugonot,  and,  on  that  account,  as  well  as  from 
the  personal  regard  which  his  conduct  and  manners 
inspired,  he  had  been  treated  with  much  attention, 
during  the  t'me  that  he  remained  there.  Mons.  de 
Valette, — so  he  was  called, — had  been  particularly 
intimate  with  the  family  of  Major  Gibbons,  a  gen- 
tleman of  consideration  in  the  colony,  and  he 
quickly  espied  his  lady  in  the  pleasure-boat,  which 
he  discovered  in  the  bay.  Gallantly  inclined  to 
return  her  civilities,  he  endeavoured  to  overtake 
her,  with  the  intention  of  inviting  her  aboard  the 
ship,  quite  unconscious  that  she  was  flying  from 
him  in  terror.  But  the  formidable  array  of  armed 
shallops,  with  the  Qvssemblage  of  people  on  shore, 
at  length  excited  a  suspicion  of  tlie  truth,  and  Ik 
determined  to  follow  the  lady  to  her  retreat,  to  ex- 
plain the  motives  of  his  conduct.  IJis  apology  was 
graciously  accepted,  and  the  late  alarm  became  a 
object  of  general  amusement. 


A. 


RIVALS   OF   ACADIA. 


21 


nansion  exhibited 
lows  were  thrown 
•breeze,  children 
erful  voices  with- 
who  had  just  pre- 
3ome  guest.  He 
Winthrop,  when 
3C0gnized  in  him. 
[lo  had,  on  a  for- 
iate  a  treaty  witli 
as  believed  to  be 
as  well  as  from 
duct  and  manners 

1  much  attention, 
there.  Mons.  dc 
been  particularly 
r  Gibbons,  a  gen- 
colony,   and   he 

asure-boat,  which 
antly  inclined  to 
J  red   to  overtake 

2  her  aboard  the 
was  flying  from 

c  array  of  armed 
people  on  shore, 
lie  truth,  and  he 
ler  retreat,  to  ex- 
IJis  apology  was 
alarm  became  h 


De  Valette  also  improved  tiie  opportunity,  to  prc- 
ipare  governor  Winthrop  for  the  object  of  La  Tour's 
[voyage  to  Boston.     M.  Razilly,  governor-general 
[of  the  French  province  of  Acadia,  had   entrusted 
[the  administration  to  D'Aulney  de  Charnisy,  and 
5t,  Etienne,  lord  of  La  Tour.     The  former  he  ap- 
pointed lieutenant  of  the  western  part  of  the  colo- 
%iy,  the  latter  of  the  eastern  ;  they  were  separated 
by  the  river  St.  Croix.     La  Tour  al-o  held  posses- 
sion in  right  of  a  purchase,  confirmed  by  the  kin<('s 
patent ;  and,  on  the  death  of  Razilly,  which  hap- 
pened at  an  early  period  of  the  settlement,  he  claim- 
ed the  supreme  command.     His  pretensions  were 
violently  disputed   by  D'Aulney  ;  and,    from  that 
vtime,  each  had  constantly  soupht  to  dispossess  the 
)bther ;  and  the  most  bitter  enmity  kept  them  con- 
tinually at  strife.     Both  had  repeatedly  endeavour- 
ed to  obtain  assistance  from  the  New-England  colo- 
nists ;  but,  as  yet,  they  had  prudently  declined   to 
decide  in  favor  of  either,  lest  the  other  should  prove 
a  dangerous,  or  at  least  an  annoying  enemy.     La 
iTour  was,  or  pretended  to  be,  a  Hugonot, — which 
Igave  him  a  preference  with  the  rulers  of  the  Mas- 
iBachusetts ;  they  had  shewn  a  friendly  disposition 
itowards  him,  and  permitted  any  persons,  who  chose, 
|to  engage  in  commerce  with  him.     He  had  just  re- 
Iturned  from  France,  in  a  ship  well  laden  with  sup- 
Iplies  for  his  fort  at   St.  John's,  and  a  stout  crew, 
Ihvlio  were  mostly  protestants  of  Rochelle.     But  he 
^onnd  the  fort  besieged,  and  the  mouth  of  the  river 


m 


fif^i 


!   '       * 


ses! 


■mmmm 


mr 


1 } 


RIVALS   OF    ACADIA. 


shut  up,  by  several  vessels  of  D'Aulnej's,  vvlios* 
force  it  would  have  been  temerity  to  oppose.  >Te 
sailed  directly  to  Boston,  to  implore  assistance  in. 
removing  his  enemy  ;  brinj^ino;  with  him  a  commis- 
sion from  the  kinsf.  which  established  his  authority, 
as  lieutenant-general  in  Acadia. 

It  was  under  these  circumstances,  that  the  French 
vessel  appeared  in  the  harbor  of  Boston,  the  inno- 
cent cause  of  50  much  plarni  to  the  inhabitanvs. 
Governor  Wijithrop  heard  the  details  and  argu- 
ments of  De  Valette,  with  polite  attention  ;  but  he 
declined  advancing  any  opinion,  till  he  had  con- 
sulted with  the  deputy,  and  other  magistrates.  He, 
however,  desired  Mr.  Stanhope  to  return  with  the 
young  officer  to  liis  ship,  and  request  M.  de  la  Tour 
to  become  a  guest  at  the  house  of  the  chief  magis- 
trate, until  his  question  was  decided. 


•ttm 


.^^^ 


f'Aulnej'ii,  wliosi' 
f  to  oppcse.  He 
lore  assistance  ip 
V.\  him  a  commis- 
hed  his  authority, 

"s.  that  the  French 
Boston,  the  inno- 
o  the  inhabitants.  I 
details  and  argu 
attention  ;  but  he  i 
I,  till  he  had  con- 
magistrates.  He, 
to  return  with  the 
uest  M.de  la  Tour 
»f  the  chief  magis- 
ded. 


UIAALS   OF   ACADIA. 


csiM.v^'S'SL  i: 


Fit  me  with  such  weeds 
As  may  beseem  sonic  well-repuled  pnge. 


The  tardy  summer  of  the  north  burst  forth  in  all 
s  splendor  on  the  woods  and  scattered  settlements 
f  Acadia,  and  even  the  harassed  garrison  at  St. 
John's,  revived  under  its  inspirilir.g  influence.  La 
JTour  had  been  compelled  to  return  to  France  in 
flie  autumn,  for  a  reinforcement  and  supplies,  leav- 
ing the  fort  defended  only  by  a  hireling  force, 
l^'hich  could  scarcely  muster  fifty  men,  fit  for  active 
fervice.  They  v.'ere  a  mixture  of  Scotch  and  French, 
Frotestants  and  Catholics;  their  personal  and  reli- 
jjious  disputes  kept  them  at  continual  variance  ; 
|nd  the  death  of  an  experienced  officer,  who  had 
|bcen  left  in  command,  produced  a  relaxation  of 
Piscipline,  which  threatened  the  most  serious  con- 
sequences. The  protracted  absence  of  La  Tour 
pecame  a  subject  of  bitter  complaint ;  and,  as  their 
tores,  of  every  kind,  gradually  wasted  away,  they 
egan  to  talk  loudly  of  throwing  down  their  arms, 
nd  abandoning  their  posts.  In  this  posture  of  af- 
airs,  the  courage  and  firmness  of  Madame  la  Tour 


r    - 

I 


\     *. 


f 


wmm 


24 


BIVAL8    or   ACADIA. 


I' mm- 


t 


/ 


alone  restrained  them  from  open  mutiny.  With  an 
air  of  authority,  which  no  one  presumed  to  ques- 
tion, she  assumed  the  supreme  command,  and  es- 
tablhshed  a  rigid  discipline,  which  the  boldest  dared 
not  transgress.  She  daily  witnessed  their  military 
exercises,  assigned  to  every  man  his  post  of  duty, 
and  voluntarily  submitted  to  the  many  privations 
which  circumstances  imposed  on  those  beneath 
her. 

M.  d'Aulney,  in  the  mean  time,  kept  a  vigilant 
eye  on  the  movements  of  the  garrison.  As  spring 
advanced,  his  light  vessels  were  sent  to  reconnoitre 
as  near  as  safety  would  permit  ;  and  it  was  evident 
that  he  meditated  a  decisive  attack.  Mad.  la 
Tour  used  the  utmost  caution  to  prevent  a  surprise, 
and  deceive  the  enemy  respecting  the  weakness  of 
their  resources.  She  restricted  the  usual  inter- 
course between  her  people,  and  those  without  the 
fort ;  and  allowed  no  one  to  enter  unquestioned, 
except  a  French  priest,  who  came,  at  stated  times, 
to  dispense  ghostly  counsel  to  the  Catholics. 

On  one  of  these  occasions,  as  the  holy  father 
issueu  from  a  small  building,  which  served  as  a 
chapel  for  his  flock,  he  encounterer  the  stiff  figure 
and  stern  features  of  a  Scotch  Presbyterian,  .whom 
the  lady  of  La  Tour,  a  protestant  in  faith,  had 
received  into  her  family,  in  the  capacity  of  chap- 
lain to  her  household.  It  was  on  a  Sabbath  morn- 
ing, and  both  had  been  engaged  in  the  offices  ol 
religion  with  their  respective  congregations.    Each 


■%%'■ 


•^msmHm 


««««*•-#•■■" 


[A. 

mutiny.  With  an 
jresumed  to  ques- 
;ommand,  and  es- 
i  the  boldest  dared 
sed  their  military 
his  post  of  duty, 
I  many  privations 
n  those   beneath 

e,  kept  a  vigilant 

rison.     As  spring 

ent  to  reconnoitre 

ind  it  was  evident 

Eittack.     Mad.  la 

)revent  a  surprise, 

5  the  weakness  of 

the  usual  inter- 

those  without  the 

ter  unquestioned. 

3,  at  stated  tiraes, 

3  Catholics. 

8  the  holy  father 

hich  served  as  a 

er  the  stiff  figure 

esby  terian,  Avhom 

Bint  in  faith,  had 

capacity  of  chap- 

a  Sabbath  nfiorn- 

in  the  offices  ol 

regations.     Eacli 


niVALS   OF   ACAUIA. 


25 


was  passing  on,  in  silence,  when  the  Scot  suddenly 

stopped,  directly  in  the  other's  path,  and  surveyed 

him  with  an  expiossion  of  gloomy  distr-rt       An 

I  indignant  glow  flashed  across  the  pale  features  of 

[the  priest,  but  instantly  faded  away,  and  he  stood 

pn  an  attitude  of  profound  humility,  as  if  waiting  to 

learn  the  cause  of  so  rude  an  interruption.     In 

spite  of  passion  and  prejudice,  the  bigoted  sectary 

^Jjelt  rebuked  by  the  calm  dignity  of  his  countenance 

v%ind  manner ;  but  he  had  gon.  too  far  to  recede, 

without  some  explanation,   and  therefore   sternly 

^aid, 

i  "  Our  lady  ada»its  no  stranger  within  these  gates, 
ind  wo  be  to  the  wolf  who  climbs  into  the  fold  in 
ihcep's  clothing !" 

■t  '^  The  priest  of  God,"  he  replied,  "  is  privileged 
by  his  holy  office  to  administer  reproof  and  conso- 
lation, wherever  there  is  an  ear  to  listen,  and  a  heart 
4o  feel." 

;  "The  priest  of  Satan,"  muttered  the  other, in  a 
low,  wrathful  tone,  "the  emissary  of  that  wicked 
iDnc,  wIjo  silteth  on  the  seven  hills,  filled  with  all 
abominations." 

The  priest  turned  from  him  with  a  look  of  min- 
gled pity  and  scorn  ;  but  his  reverend  opponent 
caught  his  arm,  and  again  strictly  surveying  him, 
exclaimed, 

"  It  is  not  tiiou,  whom  my  lady's  easy  charity 
permits  to  come  in  hither,  and  lead  poor  deluded 
iwoiils  astray,  with  the  false  doctrines  of  thv  false 


O 


■.■i,."  tijaV. 


,,ji>^1'"'i  -"-'-rK-if -^anni 


I  / 


86 


IIITALS   OF  ACADU. 


i! 


iv} 


religion !   Speak,  and  explain  from  whence  thou 
contest,  and  what  are  thy  designs  ?" 

"  Thy  wrath  is  vain  and  impotent,"  said  the  priest, 
coolly  withdrawing  from  his  grasp ;"  but  tlie  pre- 
cepts of  my  mastei  :i  humility,  and  I  disdain 
not  to  answer  thee,  though  rudely  questioned. 
Father  Ambrose  hath  been  called  to  a  distant  pro- 
vince, and,  by  his  passport  I  come  hither,  to  feed 
the  flock  which  he  hath  left." 

Stiil  dissatisfied,  the  chaplain  was  about  to  pro- 
secute his  interrogatories,  but  the  singular  ren- 
contre had  already  collected  a  crowd  around  them, 
and  the  Catholics,  with  the  vivacity  of  their  coun- 
try, and  the  zeal  of  their  religion,  began  loudly  to 
resent  the  inault  offered  the  holy  father.  Voices 
rose  high  in  altercation ;  but  as  the  worthy  Scot 
was  totally  ignorant  of  their  language,  he  remained, 
for  some  moments,  at  a  loss  to  conjecture  the  cause 
of  this  sudden  excitement.  But  the  menacing  looks 
which  were  directed  towards  him,  accompanied  by 
gestures  too  plain  to  be  misunderstood,  at  lengtli 
convinced  him,  that  he  was  personally  interested, 
and  he  commenced  a  hasty  retreat,  when  his  pro- 
gress was  arrested  by  the  iron  grasp  of  a  sturdy 
corporal,  from  which  he  found  it  impossible  to  free 
himself.  With  a  countenance,  in  which  rage  and 
entreaty  were  ludicrously  blended,  he  turned  to- 
wards the  priest,  whose  earnest  expostulations 
were  addressed,  in  vain,  to  the  exasperated  assail- 
ants.    The  corporal  kept  his  hold   tenaciously. 


( ' 


n..llMi»l« 


■om  whence  tliou 

It,"  said  the  priest, 
jp ;"  but  the  pre- 
ity,  and  I  disdain 
idely  questioned. 
1  to  a  distant  pro- 
ne hither,  to  feed 

was  about  to  pro- 
the  singular  rcn- 
9wd  around  them, 
ity  of  their  coun- 
,  began  loudly  to 
y  father.     Voices 

the  worthy  Scot 
age,  he  remained, 
ijecture  the  cause 
le  menacing  looks 

accompanied  by 
Tstood,  at  length 
onally  interested, 
It,  wlien  his  pro- 
rasp  of  a  sturd} 
mpossible  to  free 
1  which  rage  and 
id,  he  turned  to- 

t  expostulations 
icasperated  assail- 
lold    tenaciously. 


IIIVAL9  OF  ACADIA. 


w 


|uestioning  him  with  a  volubility  known  only  to 
frenchmen,  and,  enraged  that  he  was  neither  under- 
stood nor  answered,  he  concluded  each  sentence 
rith  a  shake,  whicli  jarred  every  sinew  in  the  stout 
frame  of  the  Scotchman.  It  is  doubtful  to  what 
extremes  the  affray  might  have  been  carried,  as  the 
Opposite  party  began  to  rally  with  equal  warmth, 
for  the  rescue  oi  ihexr  teacher ;  but,  at  that  moment, 
ft  quick  and  repeated  note  of  alarum  sounded  in 
tfieir  ears,  and  announced  some  pressing  danger. 
Thrown  into  consternation  by  this  unexpected 
summons,  the  soldiers  fled  confusedly,  or  stood 
fjiupined,  and  uncertain  what  course  to  pursue. 
Nor  was  their  confusion  diminished,  when  Madame 
111  Tour  appeared  in  the  midst  of  them,  and,  with  a 
look,  which  severely  reproved  their  negligeocet 
exclaimed, 

"  Why  stand  ye  here,  my  gallant  men,  clamouring 
with  your  idle  brawls,  when  the  enemy  floats  before 
our  very  gates  ?  fly  to  your  posts,  or  stay  and  see 
what  a  woman's  hand  can  do." 

The  appeal  was  decisive ;  in  a  moment  every 
■lan  filled  his  proper  station,  and  throughout  the 

Jbrt,  the  breathless  pause  of  suspense  preceded  the 
Sxpected  signal  of  attack  or  defence.  M.  d'Aulney 
lad  entered  the  river  with  a  strong  force,  and  owing 
|o  the  negligence  of  the  sentinels,  appeared  sud- 
lenly  before  the  surprised  garrison.  Emboldened 
)y  meeting  no  resistance,  he  drew  up  his  vessels 

Jlgainstthe  fort,  and  incautiously  approached  withia 


I  '. 


38 


BIVALS  OV   ACADIA. 


reach  of  the  battery.  Perceiving  his  error  too  late, 
he  immediately  tacked,  and  gave  a  signal  to  bear 
off,  which  was  promptly  obeyed  by  the  lighter 
vessels.  But  before  his  own,  which  was  more 
unwieldly,  could  escape,  Madame  la  Tour  seized 
the  favourable  moment,  and,  with  her  own  hand, 
discharged  a  piece  of  artillery,  which  so  materially 
damaged  the  vessel,  that  it  was  found  difHcult  to 
remove  her  from  the  incessant  fire,  which  was  then 
opened  upon  her.  It  was,  however,  effected  ; 
but,  though  repulsed  at  that  time,  it  was  not 
probable  that  D'Aulney  would  relii\quish  his  de- 
signs ;  and,  apprehensive  that  he  might  attempt  a 
landing  below  the  fort,  a  double  guard  was  set, 
and  every  precaution  taken  to  prevent  another 
surprise. 

Madame  la  Tour,  till  the  last  moment  of  danger, 
was  every  where  conspicuous,  dispensing  her  orders 
with  the  cool  presence  of  mind,  which  would  have 
honored  a  veteran  commander.  It  was  near  the 
close  of  day,  when  she  retired  from  the  presence  of 
the  garrison,  to  seek  repose  from  her  arduous 
duties.  In  passing  an  angle  of  the  fort,  she  was 
attracted  by  the  sound  of  light  footsteps  ;  and,  as 
she  paused  an  instant,  a  figure  bounded  from  the 
shadow  of  the  wall,  and  stood  before  her,  wrapped 
in  a  military  cloak,  which  completely  enveloped  its 
person. 

"  Who  are  you  V^  demanded  Madame  de  la  Tour. 
'    "  I  am  ashamed  to  tell  you,"  replied  a  soft,  sweet 


■<^.. 


[A. 

;  his  error  too  late,  | 
)  a  signal  to  bcar 
d  by  the  lighter 
which  was  more 
ic  la  Tour  seized 
th  her  own  hand, 
hich  so  materially 
found  difficult  to 
e,  which  was  then 
owever,  effected  ; 
time,  it  was  not 
reliiiquish  his  de- 
B  might  attempt  a 
le  guard  was  set, 
►  prevent  another 

moment  of  danger, 
pensing  her  orders 
which  would  have 

It  was  near  the 
)m  the  presence  of 
rem   her  arduous 

the  fort,  she  was 
botsteps ;  and,  as 
bounded  from  the 
fore  her,  wrapped 
tely  enveloped  its 

adamede  la  Tour. 
)lied  a  soft,  sweet 


niVALS  OF  ACADU. 


29 


voice,  which  the  lady  instantly  recognized;  "but 
if  you  can  forgive  me,  I  will  uncover  myself,  for, 
[indeed,  I  am  well  nigh  suffbcated  already." 

"  Foolish  child  !  where  have  you  been,  and  what 
'is  the  meaning  of  all  this  ?" 

'  "  I  was  coming  to  seek  for  you  ;  bui  I  lingered 
here  a  few  moments,  for,  in  truth,  I  have  no  fancy 
\o  approach  very  near  those  formidable  guns, 
\inless  they  are  more  peaceably  disposed  then  they 
^ave  been  to-day,  and,  now  I  must  see  if  you  Ibr- 
Igive  my  cowardice !" 

f  With  these  woids  the  cloak  was  hastily  unloosed, 
Ind  the  young  page  of  Mad.  la  Tour  sprang  tightly 
from  its  folds.  A  tartan  kirtle,  reaching  below  the 
^nees,  with  trews  of  the  same  material,  and  a  High- 
i|and  bonnet,  adorned  with  a  tuft  of  eagle  feathers, 
gave  him  the  appearance  of  a  Scottish  youth ; — but 
j&ie  sparkling  black  eyes,  the  clear  brunette  com- 
plexion, and  the  jetty  locks  which  clustered  around 
his  brow  and  neck,  proclaimed  him  the  native  of  a 
ivarmer  and  brighter  climate.  Half  laughing,  yet 
flushing  with  shame,  the  boy  looked  with  arch 
limidity  in  his  lady's  face,  as  if  deprecating  the 
fexpected  reproof;  but  she  smiled  affectionately  oa 
|]im,  and  said, 

;    "  I  have  nothing  to  forgive,  my  child  ;  God  knows 

,|his  is  but  a  poor  place  for  one  so  young  and  deli'- 

iate  as  you,  and  I  wonder  not,  that  your  cour  ge 

is  sometimes  tested  beyond  Its  strength.    I  would 

3* 


i 


i 


*^*^ 


3a 


BIVALS  OF  ACADIA. 


^    i\     D 


not  wish  you  to  share  the  dangers  which  it  is  my 
duty  to  encounter," 

"  I  should  fear  nothing  could  I  really  be  of  ser- 
vice to  you,'-  replied  the  page,  "  but,  to-day,  for 
instance,  I  must  have  been  sadly  in  your  way,  and 
I  am  very  sure  the  first  cannon  ball  would  have 
carried  me  off  the  walls." 

"  The  enemy  would  doubtless  aim  at  so  import- 
ant a  mark,"  said  the  lady,  «miling,  "  but  go  now, — 
your  valour  will  never  win  the  spurs  of  knighthood.'' 

"  I  am  not  ambitious  of  such  an  honour,"  he 
answered  gaily ;  "  you  know  I  am  but  a  fair-weather 
sort  of  page,  fit  only  to  hover  around  my  lady's 
bower,  in  the  season  of  flowers  and  sunshine." 

"  Mine  is  no  bower  of  ease,"  said  Mad.  la  Tour; 
"  but  with  all  its  perils,  I  am  resolved  to  guard  it 
with  my  life,  and  resign  it  only  into  the  hands  of 
my  lord.  You  have  promised  to  assist  me,"  she 
added,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "  and  I  wish  you  to 
redeem  your  word  by  remaining  here  till  I  return. 
I  care  not  to  trust  the  faith  of  those  idle  sol- 
diers, who,  perchance,  think  they  have  done  enough 
of  duty  to-day,  and  your  keener  eyes  may  keep  a 
closer  watch  on  the  landing  place,  and  sooner  espy 
the  motions  of  the  enemy,  who  still  hold  their  sta- 
tion below," 

"  This  I  can  do  with  pleasure,"  said  the  pogc, 
"  and  I  am  as  brave  as  heart  can  wish,  when  there 
is  no  danger  nigh.  I  love  to  linger  under  the  open 
sky  in  the  twilight  of  these  bright  days,  which  are  so 


IIA. 


RIVALS  or   ACADIA. 


51 


;ers  which  it  la  my 

I  really  be  of  ser- 
,  "  but,  to-day,  for 
r  in  your  way,  and 
►n  ball  would  have 

I  aim  at  so  import- 
g,  "  but  go  now, — 
irs  of  knighthood.'' 
h  an  honour,"  he 
1  but  a  fair-weather 
around  my  lady's 
ind  sunshine." 
iaid  Mad.  la  Tour; 
jsolved  to  guard  it 
into  the  hands  of 
to  assist  me,"  she 
and  I  wish  you  to 
here  till  I  return, 
of  those  idle  sol- 
have  done  enough 
r  eyes  may  keep  a 
e,  and  sooner  espy 
Jtill  hold  their  sta- 

"  said  the  page. 
I  wish,  when  there 
er  under  the  open 
days,  which  are  so 


cheering  after  the  damp  fogs  of  spring,  that  I  can 
?  hardly  regret  the  eternal  sunshine  of  my  own  dear 
France." 

"  Well,  do  not  forget  my  commission  in  your 
romantic  musings,"  replied  Mad.  la  Tour. 

The  page  promised  obedience,  and,  left  to  him- 
elf,  assumed  the  post  of  observation,  retreating  as 
Ifar  as  possible  from  *he  view  of  the  soldiers.     The 
;|soft  and  brilliant  tints  of  twilight  slowly  faded  away, 
land  the  smooth  surface  of  the  river  gradually  dark- 
§encd  as  its  waves   beat  in  monotonous   cadence 
^against  the  walls  of  the  fort.     A  slight  breeze,  at 
■intervals,   lifted   the  silken   folds   of  the   banner, 
'which  drooped  from  the  tall  flag-staf^',  displaying 
I  the  escutcheon  of  La  Tour,  surmounted  by  the  arms 
X  of  France.    Far  up,  the  noble  stream,  on  either 
^side,  was  skirted  by  extensive  intervals,  covered 
I  with  the  rich,   bright  verdure,  peculiar  to  early 
summer,  and  occasionally  rising  into  gentle  accli- 
vities, or  terminating  in  impervious  forests.     Tufts 
of  woodland,  and  large  trees  scattered  in  groups, 
4  or  standing  singly,  like  the  giants  of  past  ages, 
^i  spreading  their  broad  arms  to  the  winds  of  heaven, 
diversified  the  scene ;  while  here  and  there,  the 
smoke  curled  gracefully  from  the  humble  cabin  of 
the  planter,  and  at  times,  the  fisherman's  light  oar 
dimpled  the  clear  waves,  as  he  bounded  homeward 
with  the  fruits  of  successful  toil.     A  bright  moon- 
v^  light,  silvering  the  calm  and  beautiful  landscape, 
I  rjisplaycd  the  vessels  of  D'Aulney,  riding  at  anchor 


/'\ 


04 


,*J 


"lA 


•50 


RITALS   OF  ACADIA. 


/ 


1  J  ■ 


i  li. 


below  the  fort,  while  a  thin  mist,  so  common  in  that 
climate,  began  slowly  to  weave  around  their  hulks, 
till  the  tall  masts  and  white  top-sails  were  alone 
visible,^floating,  like  a  fairy  fleet,  in  the  transparent 
atmosphere.  The  page  had  gazed  long  in  silent 
admiration,  when  his  attention  was  arrested  by  the 
appearance  of  a  human  figure,  gliding  cautiously 
along  beneath  the  parapet  on  which  he  stood. 
His  tall,  attenuated  form  was  clothed  in  the  loose, 
black  garments  of  a  monk,  and  the  few  hi'rs  which 
the  rules  of  a  severe  order  had  left  on  his  UiCovered 
head,  were  white  as  the  snows  of  winter.  A  cowl 
partially  concealed  his  features,  his  waist  was  girt 
by  a  cord  of  discipline,  and,  as  he  moved  willi 
noiseless  steps,  he  seemed  counting  the  beads  of  a 
rosary,  which  he  carried  in  his  hand.  The  page 
was  at  first  on  the  point  of  speaking,  believing  it 
to  be  father  Ambrose,  the  Catholic  missionary ;  but 
a  second  glance  convinced  him  he  was  mistaken, 
and  with  curiosity,  mingled  with  a  degree  of  awe, 
he  leaned  forward  to  observe  him  more  attentively. 
x\fter  proceeding  a  few  paces,  he  stopped,  and 
threw  back  his  cowl,  and  as  he  did  so,  his  eye 
encountered  the  page,  whom  he  surveyed  strictly 
for  a  moment,  then  turned  slowly  away,  and  disap- 
peared by  an  aperture  through  the  outer  works. 
The  boy  looked  over  the  wall,  expecting  the  return 
of  this  singular  intruder ;  nor  was  he  aware  how 
iixedly  he  remained  in  that  position,  till  the  touch 


^n 


or 


"»  .,_.. 


:a. 


RIVALS   OV   ACADIA. 


3S 


JO  common  in  that 
round  their  hulks, 
»-sails  were  alone 
in  the  transparent 
sed  long  in  silent 
is  arrested  by  the 
gliding  cautiously 
which  he  stood, 
•thed  in  the  loose, 
e  few  hi  "rs  which 
on  his  Ui'covered 
winter.  A  cowl 
^lis  waist  was  girt 
I  he  moved  willi 
ig  the  beads  of  a 
hand.  The  page 
:ing,  believing  it 
I  missionary ;  but 
le  was  mistaken, 

degree  of  awe, 
more  attentively, 
le  stopped,  and 
did  so,  his  eye 
surveyed  strictly 
iway,  and  disap- 
he  outer  works, 
cting  the  return 

he  aware  how 
>n,  till  the  touch 


»f  a  hand,  laid  lightly  on  his  arm,  recalled  him  to 
recollection.     Turning  quickly  round,  he  involun- 
tarily started  back,  on  perceiving  the  object  of  his 
|curiosity  close  beside  him.     His  gliding  footsteps 
ind  peculiar  appearance  awakened  a  transient  feel- 
ing of  dread  ;  but  instantly  repressing  it,  he  ven- 
tured to  raise  his  head,  and  as  he  did  so,  the  clear 
jiglit  of  the  moon   Tell   full  on   his  youthful  face, 
trhe  stranger  was  about  to  speak,  but  as  the  page 
looked  towards  him,  the  words  died  away  on  his 
lips,  his  cheeks  were  flushed,  and  his  cold  features 
flowed  with  sudden  and  strong  excitement. 
"  Holy  St.  Mary,  who  are  you  .'"'  he  asked,  in  an 
"Recent  of  deep  feeling,  as  he  grasped  the  arm  of 
|lhe  trembling  youth. 

«  "  I  am  called  Hector,  the  page  of  Mad.  la  Tour," 
\Q  answered,  in  a  voice  s  rce  audible  from  terror, 
md  shrinking  from  the  hand  which  held  him. 

"  May  God  forgive  me  !"  murmured  the  monk  to 

himself,  as  he  relaxed  his  grasp ;  while,  evidently 

•  by   a   strong  effort,  every   trace   of  emotion  was 

Jbanished  from  his  countenance  and  manner.     Hec- 

^^^?|tor  still  stood  before  him,  longing,  yet  afraid  to 

flee,  till  the  other,  apparently  comprehending  his 

feelings,  said,  in  a  slow,  solemn  voice, 

"  Fear  me  not,  boy,  but  go,  bear  this  message  to 
the  lady  of  La  Tour.  Tell  her,  that  her  lord  hath 
1^  already  spread  his  homeward  sails,  and  a  few  hours, 
I  perhaps,  will  bear  him  hither.     Tell  her,  that  M, 


PI 


^1 


'  1 


<-;^ 


.-^ 


'f 


34 


B1VAL9   OF  ACADIA. 


d'Aulney  will  send  to  parley  with  her  for  surrender; 
but  bid  her  disdain  his  promises  or  threats  ;  bid  iier 
hold  out  with  a  brave  heart,  and  the  hour  of  succor 
will  surely  arrive." 

So  saying,  he  turned  away  ;  and  Hector  hastened 
to  the  apartment  of  his  lady. 


V 


M 


m 


i   !./ 


J     TlIE 

morning 
j|)ert—tl 
lather  A 
They  he 


ipg  with 
The 
jpas  Iiis 
^ften  ca 
«nd  amo 
tnr:il  tha 
(vents,  I 
'he  mys 
[ated  hi 
Iccasion 
["toning 


KIVALS   or  ACADIA. 


65 


mm 


for  surrender 


ector  hastened 


CHAPTSZl  ZZZ. 


liernld,  save  thy  labor  ;. 
Come  thou  no  more  for  ransom,  gentle  hern  hi ; 

SiiAKsrEAns. 


The  arrival  of  some  fishermen  on  the  following 
jorning  confirmed  the  intelligence  of  father  Gil- 
bert— the  name  by  which  the  priest,  who  succeeded 
ither  Ambrose,  had  announced  himself  at  the  fort. 
'hey  had  eluded  the  enemy  by  night,  and  reported 
»at  several  vessels  lay  becalmed  in  the  Bay  of 
^mdy ;  and,  though  they  had  not  been  near  enough 
ascertain  with  certainty,  no  doubt  was  entertain- 
I,  that  it  was  the  little  fleet  of  M.  la  Tour,  return^ 
ig  with  the  expected  supplies. 

The  holy  character  and  mission  of  father  Gilbert 
las  his  passport  in  every  place ;  and,  as  his  duty 
kften  called  him  to  remote  parts  of  the  settlement, 
[nd  among  every  description  of  people,  it  was  na- 
iiral  that  he  should  obtain  information  of  passing 
•vents,  before  it  reached  the  ears  of  the  garrison, 
""he  mysterious  manner  in  which  he  had  communi- 
iated  his  intelligence  on  the  preceding  evening, 
Occasioned  some  surprise  ;  but  Mad.  la  Tour,  in 
Istcning  to  the  relation  of  her  page,  made  due 


t     VI 


mmm'^itmmm 


<  > 


36 


R1V4LS    OF   ACADIA. 


/ 


allowance  for  the  exaggerations  of  excited  fancy; 
and  she  was  also  aware,  that  the  Catholic  mission- 
aries were  fond  of  assuming  an  ambiguous  air, 
which  inspired  the  lower  people  with  reverence, 
and  doubtless  increased  their  influence  over  them. 
Till  within  a  day  or  two,  father  Gilbert  had  never 
entered  the  fort ;  but  he  was  well  known  to  the 
poor  inhabitants  without,  by  repeated  acts  of  cha- 
rity and  kindness,  though  he  sedulously  shunned 
all  social  intercourse,  and  was  remarked  for  the 
austere  discipline,  and  rigid  self-denial  to  which  he 
subjected  himself. 

The  spirits  of  the  garrison  revived  with  the  ex- 
pectatioii  of  relief,  which  was  no  longer  considered 
a  matter  of  uncertainty.  In  the  fulness  of  these 
renovated  hopes,  a  boat  from  M.  d'Aulney  ap- 
proached with  an  officer  bearing  a  flag  of  truce. 
He  was  received  with  becoming  courtesy,  and  im- 
mediately shown  into  the  presence  of  Mad.  la  Tour, 
In  spite  of  his  ci>ntempt  for  female  authority,  and 
his  apatliy  to  female  charms,  a  feeling  of  respectful 
admiration  softened  the  harshness  of  his  features, 
as  the  sturdy  veteran  bent  before  her,  with  the 
almost  forgotten  gallantry  of  earlier  years.  At 
that  period  of  life,  when  the  graces  of  youth  have 
just  ripened  into  maturity,  the  lady  of  La  Tour 
was  as  highly  distinguished  by  her  personal  attrac- 
tions, as  by  the  strength  and  energy  of  her  mind, 
Her  majestic  figure  displayed  the  utmost  liarmon} 
of  proportion,  and  the  expression  of  her  reguhn 


^. 


»I)V 


-€h 


lIA. 

;  of  excited  fancy  ;  | 
I  Catholic  mission- 
in    ambiguous   air, 
le  with  reverence,! 
fluence  over  them. 
Gilbert  had  never 
well  known  to  the 
peated  acts  of  cha- 
sedulously  shunned 
5  remarked  for  the 
-denial  to  which  he 

evived  with  the  ex- 

0  longer  considered 
he  fulness  of  these 

1  M.  d'Aulney  ap- 
ing a  flng  of  truce, 
f  courtesy,  and  im- 
ice  of  Mad.  la  Tour, 
nale  authority,  and 

ecling  of  respectful 
less  of  his  features, 
fore  her,  with  the 
earlier  years.  At 
aces  of  youth  have 
lady  of  La  Tour 
her  personal  attrac- 
nergy  of  her  mind, 
le  utmost  harmon} 
ion  of  her  reguliii 


mVALS   OF  ACADIA. 


37 


nd  striking  features  united,  in  a  high  degree,  the 
sweetest  sensibilities  of  woman,  with  the  more  bold 
nd  lofty  attributes  of  man.     At  times,  an  air  of 
auteur  shaded  the  openness  of  her  brow,  but  it 
veil  became  her  present  situation,  and  the  singular 
Icommand  she  had  of  late  assumed.     She  received 
iflie  messenger  of  D'Aulney  with  politeness,  but  the 
Jcold  reserve  of  her  countenance  and  manner,  con- 
vinced him,  that  his  task  was  difficult,  if  not  hope- 
less.    For  an  instant,  his  experienced  eye  drooped 
eneath  her  piercing  glance ;  and,  perceiving  her 
dvantage,  she  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 
ll  "What  message  from  my  lord  of  D'Aulney,"  she 
ttsked,  "  procures  me  the  honor  of  this  interview  .'' 
|>r  is  it  too  bold  for  a  woman's  ear,  that  you  remain 
Mhus  silent  ?    I  have   but  brief  time   to  spend  in 
Hi^ords,  and  would  quickly  learn  what  brave  service 
||e  now  demands  of  me  ?" 

%  "  My  lord  of  D'Aulney,"  replied  the  officer, 
*f  bids  me  tell  you,  that  he  wars  not  with  women  ; 
lliat  he  respects  your  weakness,  and  forgives  the 
juries  which  you  have  sought  to  do  him." 
"  Forgives !"  said  the  lady,  with  a  contemptuous 
mile  ;  "  thy  lord  is  gracious  and  merciful, — aye, 
erciful  to  himself,  perhaps,  and  careful  for  his 
oor  vessels,  which  but  yesterday  shivered  beneath 
ur  cannon  !  Is  this  all  f" 
"  He  requires  of  you,"  resumed  the  officer,  piqued 
y  her  scornful  manner,  "  the  restoration  of  those 

^|•ights,  which  the  lord  of  la  Tour  hath  unjustly 

4 


Vi 


««! 


d8 


RIVALS  OF  ACADIA. 


\t} 


*  ^'K 


i'V 


Iv 


usurped ;  he  requires  the  submission  of  this  garri- 
son, and  the  possession  of  this  fort,  and  pledges  his 
word,  on  such  conditions,  to  preserve  inviolate  tiic 
life  and  liberty  of  every  individual." 

"Thy  lord  in  most  just  and  reasonable  in  his 
demands,"  returned  the  lady,  sarcastically ;  "  but 
hath  he  no  threats  in  reserve,  no  terrors  wherewitli 
to  enforce  compliance  ?" 

"He  bids  me  tell  you,"  said  the  excited  messen 
ger,  "  that  if  you  reject  his  offered  clemency,  you 
do  it  at  your  peril,  and  the  blood  of  the  innocent 
will  be  required  at  your  hands.  He  knows  the 
weakness  of  your  resources,  and  he  will  come  with 
power  to  shake  these  frail  walls  to  their  founda- 
tions, and  make  the  stoutest  heart  within  them  trem- 
ble with  dismay." 

"  And  bid  him  come/'  said  the  lady,  every  fea- 
ture glowing  with  indignant  feeling,  and  high  re- 
solve ;  "  bid  him  come,  and  we  will  teach  him  to 
respect  the  rights  which  he  has  dared  to  infringe ; 
to  acknowledge  the  authority  which  he  has  presum- 
ed to  insult ;  to  withdraw  the  claims,  which  he  has 
most  arrogantly  preferred.  Tell  him,  that  the  lady 
of  La  Tour  is  resolved  to  sustain  the  honor  of  hei 
absent  lord,  to  defend  his  just  cause  to  the  last  ex 
tremity,  and  preserve,  inviolate,  the  possession? 
which  his  king  hath  intrusted  to  his  keeping.  Go, 
tell  your  lord,  that,  though  a  woman,  my  heart  h 
fearless  as  his  own ;  say,  that  I  spurn  his  offered 
mercy,  I  defy  his  threatened  vengeance,  and  t^ 


f 
I 


RIVALS   OF   ACADIA. 


39 


ion  of  this  garri- 
L,  and  pledges  his 
3rve  inviolate  the 

l1." 

reasonable  in  his 
rcastically;  "but 
terrors  wherewith 

e  excited  messen- 
ed  clemency,  you 
d  of  the  innocent 
.  He  knows  tlic 
he  will  come  witli 
3  to  their  founda- 
within  them  trem- 

ie  lady,  every  fea- 
ling,  and  high  re- 
will  teach  him  to 
dared  to  infringe ; 
ich  he  has  presum- 
lims,  which  he  has 
him,  that  the  lady 
1  the  honor  of  hei 
luse  to  the  last  ex 
J,  the   possessions 
his  keeping.     Go 
)man,  my  heart  ^ 
spurn  his  offered 
engcance,  and  t*^ 


Ood,  the  defender  of  the  innocent,  I  look  for  suc- 
cor in  the  hour  of  danger  and  strife." 

So  saying,  she  turned  from  him,  with  a  courteous 
cesture,  though  her  manner  convinced  him  that  any 
farther  parley  would  be  useless ;  and  endeavoring 
'to  conceal  his  chagrin  by  an  air  of  studied  civility, 
the  dissatisfied  messenger  was  reconducted  to  the 
:boat. 

I    'the  vessels  of  M.  d'Aulney  left  their  anchorage 
*below  the  fort,  at  an  early  hour  in. the  morning; 
#)ut  it  was  reported,  that  they  still  lay  near  the 
%nouth  of  the  river,  probably  to  intercept  the  return 
^©f  La  Tour.     The  day  passed  away,  and  he  did 
tlot  arrive,  nor  were  any  tidings  received  from  him. 
»^Iad.  la  Tour's  page  remarked  the  unusual  dejec- 
,^ion  of  his  lady,  and,  emulous  perhaps  of  her  braver 
^spirit,  resolved,  if  possible,  to  obtain  some  infor- 
^ination,  which  might  relieve  her  anxiety.     With 
this  intention  he  left  the  fort  soon  after  sunset,  at- 
tended only  by  a  large  Newfoundland  dog,  which 
|nas  his  constant  companion,  whenever  he  ventured 
Ibeyond  the  gates.     For  some  time,  he  walked  slow- 
>ly  along  the  bank  of  the  river,  hoping  to  meet  with 
fsome  fishermen,  who  usually  returned  from  their 
;  labors  at  the  close  of  day,  and  were  most  likely  to 
have  gathered  the  tidings  which  he  wished  to  learn. 
The  gloom  of  evening,  which  had  deepened  around 
iliim,  was  gradually  dispersed  by  the  light  of  the 
rising  moon  ;  and  as  he  stood  alone  in  that  solitary 
place,  the  recollection  of  his  interview  with  the 


■( 


) 


■i_  Viiiiii^'?-'''*  -*  '"^ri 


^n^ 


40 


RIVALS  OF  ACADIA. 


^ 


k 


'  ■( 


strange  priest  on  the  preceding  evening,  recurred 
to  his  imagination  with  a  pertinacity,  which  he 
vainly  endeavored  to  resist.  He  looked  carefully 
round,  almost  expecting  to  see  the  tall,  ghost-like 
figure  of  the  holy  father  again  beside  him  ;  but 
there  was  no  sound  abroad,  except  the  sighing  of 
the  wind  and  waves ;  and  the  shadows  of  the  trees 
lay  unbroken  on  the  velvet  turf.  From  this  dis- 
quiet musing,  so  foreign  to  his  light  and  careless 
disposition,  the  page  was  at  length  agreeably  rous- 
ed by  the  quick  dash  of  oars,  and  in  a  moment  he 
perceived  a  small  bark  canoe,  guided  by  a  single 
individual,  bounding  swiftly  over  the  waves.  As  it 
approached  near  the  place  where  he  stood.  Hector 
retreated  to  conceal  himself  in  a  tuft  of  evei-greens. 
from  whence  he  could,  unseen,  observe  the  person 
who  drew  near.  He  had  reason  to  congratulate 
himself  on  this  precaution,  as  the  boat  shortly  near- 
ed  the  spot  which  he  had  just  quitted,  and  in  the 
occup:int  he  discovered  the  dark  features  of  a 
young  Indian,  who  had  apparently  been  engaged 
in  the  labor  or  amusement  of  fishing.  Not  caring 
to  disclose  himself  to  tlie  savage,  the  page  shrunk 
behind  the  trunk  of  a  large  pine  tree,  while  the 
dog  crouched  quietly  at  his  feet,  equally  intent  on 
the  stranger's  motions, — his  shaggy  ears  bent  to  the 
ground,  and  his  intelligent  eyes  turned  often  in 
quiringly  to  his  master's  face,  as  if  to  consult  his 
wishes  and  inclination. 
The  Indian  leaped  from  his  canoe,  the  instant  it 


4. 


B1VAL9   0¥   ACADIA. 


41 


evening,  recuireci 
lacity,  which  he 

looked  carefully 
he  tall,  ghosi-likc 
beside  him  ;  but 
3pt  the  sighing  of 
dows  of  the  trees 
'.  From  this  dis- 
ight  and  careless 
th  agreeably  rous- 
d  in  a  moment  he 
uidod  by  a  single 
the  waves.  As  it 
\  he  stood,  Hector 
uft  of  evei-greens, 
(bserve  the  person 
1  to  congratulate 
boat  shortly  near- 
quitted,  and  in  the 
irk  Matures  of  a 
tly  been  engaged 
ling.  Not  caring 
I,  the  page  shrunk 
le  tree,  while  the 
,  equally  intent  on 
;  y  ears  bent  to  the 

turned  often  in 
3  if  to  consult  his 

inoe,  the  instant  it 


touched  the  strand,  and  began  hastily  to  secure  it 
by  a  rope,  which  he  fastened  around  the  trunk  of 
an  uprooted  tree.  From  his  appearance,  he  be- 
longed to  one  of  those  native  tribes,  who,  from 
constant  intercourse  and  traffic  with  the  French 
Acadians,  had  imbibed  some  of  the  habits  and 
ideas  of  civilized  life.  His  dress  was,  in  many 
Irespects,  similar  to  the  European's  ;  but  the  embroi- 
j|dered  moccasins,  the  cloak  of  deer-skins,  and 
'p)lume  of  scarlet  feathers,  shewed  that  he  had  not 
Ibltogether  abandoned  the  customs  and  finery  of 
tiis  own  people.  His  figure  was  less  tall  and  ath- 
letic than  the  generality  of  Indian  youth,  and  his 
Ifincly  formed  features  were  animated  by  an  expres- 
■jsion  of  vivacity  and  careless  good-humour,  very 
tliffcrent  from  the  ui^tial  gravity  of  his  nation.  The 
i)age  looked  at  him  with  a  degree  of  curiosity  and 
Interest  which  he  could  neither  suppress  nor  define. 
%Ialf  ashamed  of  his  own  timidity,  he  resolved  to 
iddress  him,  and  seek  the  information  he  was  so 
iJesirous  of  obtaining,  if,  indeed,  he  had  been  suffi- 
biently  conversant  with  the  French  settlers  to  com- 
tiiunicate  his  ideas  in  that  language.  While  he 
'slill  hesitated,  the  Indian  had  secured  his  canoe, 
and  as  he  stooped  to  take  something  from  it, 
lie  began  to  hum  in  a  low  voice,  and  presently, 
ito  the  great  surprise  of  Hector,  broke  into  a 
Jively  French  air,  the  words  and  tune  of  which 
wore  perfectly  familiar  to  his  ear.  The  dog  also 
soomed  to  recognize  it ;  he  started  on  his  feet, 

4* 


42 


BITALS   OF   ACADIA. 


'  ■<  ii 


U 


listened  attentively,  and  then,  with  a  joyful  bark, 
sprang  towards  the  Indian,  and  began  to  fawn 
around  him  and  lick  his  hands,  with  every  demon- 
stration of  sincere  pleasure. 

"  By  our  lady,  you  are  a  brave  fellow,  my  faith- 
ful Hero,"  said  the  Indian,  in  very  pure  French,  as 
he  caressed  the  animal ;  then  casting  a  searching 
glance  around,  he  continued  to  address  him,  ''  But 
how  came  you  here,  and  alone,  to  greet  your  mas- 
ter on  his  return  ?" 

The  page  could  scarcely  repress  an  exclamation 
of  surprise,  as  he  listened  to  the  well-remembered 
voice ;  but  drawing  his  cloak  more  closely  round 
him,  and  confining  his  dark  locks  beneath  the 
tartan  bonnet,  which  he  pulled  over  his  brow,  he 
advanced  nearer,  though  still  unseen,  and  said  in  a 
disguised  tone, 

"Methinks  thou  art  but  a  sorry  actor,  to  be 
thrown  off  thy  guard  by  the  barking  of  a  dog  ;  it 
I  had  a  tongue  so  little  used  to  keep  its  own  coun- 
sel, I  would  choose  a  mask  which  it  would  not  so 
readily  betray." 

"  Thou  art  right,  by  all  the  saints,"  replied  the 
other ;  "  and  be  thou  f-iend  or  foe,  I  will  see  to 
whom  I  am  indebted  foT  this  sage  reproof." 

So  saying,  he  darted  towards  the  place  where 
the  page  was  concealed,  and  Hector,  hiding  his 
face  as  much  as  possible,  bowed  with  an  air  of 
profound  respect  before  him. 


BIVAXI   OV   ACADIA* 


48 


fellow,  my  faith- 
pure  French,  as 
Lng  a  searching 
Iress  him,  "  But 
greet  your  mas- 

an  exclamation 
irell-remembered 
ire  closely  round 
ks  beneath  the 
ver  his  brow,  he 
en,  and  said  in  a 

ry  actor,  to  be 
ng  of  a  dog ;  it 
3p  its  own  coun- 
it  would  not  so 

nts,"  replied  the 

»e,  I  will  see  to 

eproof." 

he  place  where 

ctor,  hiding  his 

with  an  air  oi 


"  Ua !  whom  have  we  here  ?"  he  asked,  survey- 
ing the  page  with  extreme  curiosity. 

"  The  page  of  my  lady  De  la  Tour ;"  returned 
Hector,  his  laughing  eye  drooping  beneath  the 
inquisitorial  gaze. 

"  A  pretty  popinjay,  brought  out  for  my  lady's 
amusement !"  said  the  stranger,  smiling ;  "  you 
make  rare  sport  with  your  antic  tricks,  at  the  fort 
yonder,  I  doubt  not,  boy." 

"  I  am  but  a  poor  substitute  for  my  lord's  lieu- 
tenant, whose  mirth  was  as  far-famed  as  his  cou- 
rage ;"  returned  the  page,  gravely. 

"  Thou  art  a  saucy  knave  !"  said  the  other,  quick- 
ly ;  but  instantly  checking  himself,  he  added,  ''  and 
^^}iow  fares  it  with  your  lady,  in  the  absence  of  her 
fiord  ?" 

I    "  She  is  well,  thank  heaven,  but" — 
I    "  But  what  ?"  interrupted  the  stranger,  eagerly  ; 
'*'  is  any  one — has  any  misfortune  reached  her  f" 

"  None,  which  she  has  not  had  the  courage  to 
resist ;  the  baffled  foe  can  tell  you  a  tale  of  con- 
|stancy  and   firmness,  which  the    bravest   soldier 
night  be  proud  to  emulate." 

"  Bravely  spoken,  my  little  page  ;  and  your  lady 
loubtless  found  an  able  assistant  and  counsellor  in 
ou !  ha  !  how  fared  it  with  you,  when  the  din  of 
attle  sounded  in  your  ears  f " 
"  Indifferently  well,"  said  the  -page,  with  a  sup- 
pressed smile  ;  "  I  am  but  a  novice  in  the  art  of  war. 
ut  have  you  learned  aught  that  has  befallen  us  ?" 


44 


BIVALS    or   ACADIA. 


■/ 


"  A  rumour  only  has  reached  me,  but  I  hope  soon 
to  obtain  more  accurate  and  satisfactory  inform- 
ation." 

"  You  will  hardly  gain  admittance  to  the  fort  in 
that  harlequin  dress,"  said  Hector;  "and  I  can 
save  you  the  trouble  of  attempting  it,  by  answering 
all  the  inquiries  you  may  wish  to  make." 

"  Can  you  ?"  asked  the  other,  with  an  incredu- 
lous smile  ;  "  then  you  are  more  deeply  skilled  than 
I  could  think,  or  wish  you  to  be." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  returned  the  page,  significantly  : 
"  but  you  will  soon  find  that  the  knowledge  which 
you  seek  tt  gain,  is  as  well  known  to  me,  as  to  any 
one  whom  you  hope  to  find  there." 

"  You  speak  enigmas,  boy,"  said  the  other,  sharp- 
ly ;  "  tell  me  quickly  to  whom,  and  what  you  allude  V 

"  Go,  ask  my  lady,"  said  the  page,  with  provoking 
calmness ;  "  I  may  not  betray  the  secrets  of  her 
household." 

"  You  !"  said  the  other,  scornfully  ;  "  a  prett) 
stripling,  truly,  to  receive  the  confidence  of  your 
lady." 

"If  not  my  lady's,"  replied  the  page,  "  perhaps 
her  young  companion  has  less  discretion  in  her 
choice  of  confidants." 

"  Ha  !"  said  the  stranger,  starting,  and  changing 
colour,  in  spite  of  his  tawny  disguise  ;  "  what  say 
you  of  Ac/?  speak;  and  speak  truly,  for  I  shall  soon 
know  if  thou  art  false,  from  her  own  lips." 


RIVALS   OF   ACADIA. 


45 


"  Her  lips  will  never  contradict  my  words,"  re- 
turned the  boy ;  "  but  go,  take  the  pass-word,  enter 
the  fort,  and  see — you  will  not  find  her  there." 

"  Not  find  her  there  ?"  he  repeated  in  astonish- 
ment, and  with  a  bewildered  air;  then  suddenly 
grasping  the  page's  arm,  he  said,  in  no  gentle  tone, 

"  Now,  by  my  faith,  boy,  you  test  my  patience 
beyond  endurance ;  if  I  thought  you  were  deceiv- 
ing me" — 

He  stopped  abruptly,  and  withdrew  his  hand,  as 
la  laugh,  which  he  could  no  longer  repress,  burst 
from  the  lips  of  Hector,  and  at  the  same  instant  the 
[heavy  cloak  fell  from  his  shoulders  to  the  ground. 

"What  mountebank  trick  is  this?"  demanded 
Ithe  stranger,  angrily  ;  but,  as  his  eye  glanced  over 
[the  figure  of  the  page,  his  countenance  rapidly 
[changed,  and  in  an  altered  tore,  he  exclaimed, 

"  By  the  holy  rood,  you  are" — 

"  Hush !"  interrupted  Hector,  quickly  pressing 
his  finger  on  the  other's  lips ;  and,  with  a  feeling  of 
instinctive  dread,  he  pointed  to  father  Gilbert,  who 
|vvas  approaching,  and  in  a  moment  stood  calmly 
land  silently  beside  them.     As  the  young  man  turn- 
|Cd  to  scan  the  person  of  the  priest.  Hector  hastily 
gathered  his  cloak  around  him,  and  before  they 
pvere  aware  of  his  intention,  fled  from  the  spot,  and 
[was  fe  on  secure  within  the  walls  of  the  fort.    The 
Ipretenaed  Indian  would  have  pursued,  when  he 
jperceived  the  page's  flight,  but  his  steps  were  ar- 
rested by  the  nervous  grasp  of  the  priest. 


i' 


46 


RITALS  or  ACADIA. 


ut    \  1 


M'" 


t  n 


f    3 


"  Loose  your  hold,  sirrah  !"  he  said,  impatiently  ; 
but  instantly  recollecting  himself,  ^dded,  with  a  ges- 
ture of  respect,  "  Pardon  me,  holy  father,  my  mind 
was  chafed  with  its  own  thoughts,  or  I  should  not 
have  forgotten  the  reverence  due  to  your  character 
and  office." 

"  Know  you  that  boy  ?"  asked  the  priest,  in  a 
tremulous  voice,  and  without  appearing  to  notice 
his  apology. 

"  I  once  knew  him  well,"  returned  the  other, 
looking  at  the  monk  in  surprise  ;  "  a  few  months 
since,  we  were  companions  in  the  fort  of  St.  John's. 
But  why  do  you  question  me  thus  ?" 

"  Ask  me  not,"  returned  tlie  priest,  resuming  his 
habitual  calmness;  "but,  ns  well  might  you  pur- 
sue the  wind,  as  seek  to  overtake  that  light-footed 
page." 

"  You  have  kept  me  till  it  is  too  late  to  make  the 
attempt;"  murmured  the  other;  and,  his  thoughts 
reverting  to  what  had  just  passed,  he  continued  to 
himself,  "  A  pretty  page,  truly  !  and  who,  but  a  foe). 
or  a  mud-cap,  like  myself,  could  have  looked  at 
those  eyes  once,  and  not  know  them  again  .^" 

"  You  are  disturbed,  young  man,"  said  the  priest, 
regarding  him  attentively  ;  "  and  that  disguise,  for 
whatever  purpose  assumed,  seems  to  sit  but  ill  upon 
you." 

"  You  speak  most  truly,  good  father ;  but  I  hope 
to  doff  these  tawdry  garments  before  morning,  it 
the  saints  prosper  my  undertaking." 


RIVALS   OF  ACADIA. 


47 


d,  impatiently ; 
ied,  with  ages- 
ather,  my  mind 
)r  I  should  not 
your  character 

the  priest,  in  a 
aring  to  notice 

ned   the  other, 
"  a  few  months  | 
irt  of  St.  John's. 

!St,  resuming  his 
might  you  pur- 
;hat  light-footed 

late  to  make  the 

nd,  his  thoughts  j 

he  continued  to! 

who,  but  a  fool.  ] 

have  looked  at| 

m  again  t" 

"  said  the  priest, 

hat  disguise,  for  I 

o  sit  but  ill  upoiij 

iher ;  but  I  hope 
jfore  morning,  it  1 


'•  Time  is  waning,  my  son,  and  that  which  you 
have  to  do,  do  quickly  ;  the  dawn  of  day  must  not 
find  you  lingering  here,  if  your  safety  and  honor 
are  dear  to  you." 

"  You  know  me  !"  said  the  young  man,  surprised, 
"  but  I  am  totally  unconscious  of  having  ever  seen 
you  before." 

"  I  am  not  sought  by  the  young  and  gay,"  re- 
plied the  priest,  *'  but  we  may  meet  again  ;  yonder 
is  your  path,"  pointing  towards  the  fort,  "  mine 
leads  to  retirement  and  solitude." 

With  these  words  he  turned  from  him ;  and  the 
young  man,  with  hasty  steps,  pursued  his  lonely 
wav  to  the  fort  of  St.  John's. 


n 


48 


RIVALS   OF   ACADIA. 


GHAFTER  ZV. 


I  am  sick  of  these  protracted 
And  hesitating  councils  : 

Lord  Byiiow, 


The  appearance  of  M.  de  la  Tour  at  Boston, 
became  a  subject  cT  serious  inquiry  and  discussion 
to  the  inhabitants  of  that  place.  Time  had  rather 
increased  than  mitigated  the  religious  prejudices, 
which  separated  them  from  the  parent  country,  and 
the  approach  of  every  stranger  was  viewed  with 
distrust  and  jealousy.  The  restless  spirit  of  fana- 
ticism and  faction,  curbed  within  the  narrow  limits 
of  colonial  government,  gladly  seized  on  every  oc- 
casion to  display  its  blind  and  pertinacious  zeal. 
The  liberal  temper,  and  impartial  administration  of 
governor  Winthrop,  had  been  often  censured  by  the 
more  :>fj  1  Puritans,  and  his  open  espousal  of  La 
Tour's  cause,  excited  much  discontent  and  animo- 
sity. Though  avowedly  a  Hugonot,  there  was  rea- 
son to  believe  La  Tour  embraced  the  sentiments  of 
that  party  from  motives  of  policy,  and  it  was  ru- 
mored that  he  entertained  Romish  priests  in  his 
fort,  and  permitted  them  to  celebrate  the  ritas  ol 
their  religion.    This  was  sufficient  food  for  passion 


RIVALS   OF   ACADIA. 


40 


iiiitl  prejudice  ;  and  though  La  Tour,  and  his  prin- 
cipal officer,  De  Valetto,  were  entertained  with  the 
utmost  hospitality  at  the  house  of  the  chief  magis- 
trate, his  cause  obtained  few  advocates,  and  his 
person  was,  in  general,  regarded  with  suspicion 
and  dislike.  But  the  actions  of  Mr.  Winthrop 
were  always  dictated  by  principle  ;  he  was,  there- 
fore, firm  in  his  resolves,  and  the  voice  of  censure 
or  applause  had  no  power  to  draw  him  from  the 
path  of  duty. 

La  Tour  had  always  shown  himself  friendly  to 
the  New-England  colonists ;  but  M.  d'Aulney,  who 
was  openly  a  papist,  had  in  several  instances  inter- 
cepted their  trading  vessels,  and  treated  the  crews 
in  a  most  unjustifiable  manner.  He  had  also  wrest- 
ed a  trading  house,  at  Penobscot,  from  the  New- 
Plymouth  colonists,  and  established  his  own  fori 
there,  unjustly  alleging,  that  it  came  within  the 
limits  of  Acadia.  This  conduct  rendered  him  ex- 
tremely obnoxious,  particularly  to  the  inhabitants 
of  the  Massachusetts ;  but  his  vicinity  to  them  gave 
him  so  many  opportunities  of  annoyance,  that  they 
dreaded  to  increase  his  animosity  by  appearing  to 
favor  a  rival.  With  the  most  discordant  views,  and 
widely  differing  feelings,  the  magistrates  and  depu- 
ties of  Boston  convened,  at  the  governor's  request, 
to  consult  on  the  propriety  of  yielding  to  the  wish- 
es of  La  Tour.  A  stormy  council  at  length  broke 
up,  with  the  decision,  that  they  could  not,  consist- 
ently with  a  treaty,  which  they  had  lately  ratified 
5 


50 


RIVALS   OF   ACADIA. 


:« 


with  the  neighboring  provinces,  render  him  assist- 
ance in  their  pubhc  capacity ;  neither  did  they  feel 
authorized  to  prevent  any  private  individuals  from 
enlisting  in  his  service,  either  on  his  ofler  of  reward, 
or  from  more  disinterested  motives. 

"  We  owe  them  thanks,  even  for  this  concession," 
said  La  Tour  to  his  lieutenant;  "  and,  by  my  faith, 
we  will  return  with  such  a  force  as  shall  make  the 
traitor  D'Aulney  fly  before  us  to  the  inmost  shelter 
of  his  strong  hold ; — aye,  he  may  thank  our  clemen- 
cy if  we  do  not  pursue  him  there,  and  make  the 
foundations  of  his  fort  tremble  like  the  walls  of 
Jericho." 

"  It  must  be  with  something  more  than  the  blast 
of  a  trumpet,"  returned  De  Valette ;  "  if  common 
report  speaks  truth,  h  has  strongly  intrenched  him- 
self in  this  same  fort  that  he  took  from  the  worthy 
puritans,  some  few  years  since.  In  truth,  I  think 
we  do  them  good  service  by  avenging  this  old  griev- 
ance, which  they  have  so  long  complained  of,  and 
I  doubt  if  we  are  not  indebted  in  some  measure  to 
t^'»  same  grudge  for  the  benefit  of  their  assist*- 
ance." 

"  I  care  not  by  what  motives  they  are  actuated," 
said  La  Tour,  "  as  long  as  my  own  designs  are  ac- 
complished 'j  and  our  chief  concern,  at  present,  is 
to  take  advantage  of  this  favourable  crisis,  and,  if 
possible,  to  get  under  sail,  before  the  enemy  hears 
Qf  our  success,  and  makes  his  escape." 

"  Y«8,"  said  De  Yalette,  "  and  before  our  friends 


RIVALS  Of  ACADIA. 


51 


have  time  to  change  their  minds,  and  withdraw  the 
promised  assistance." 

"  Why  do  you  suggest  such  an  idea .'"'  asked 
La  Tour,  his  brow  darkening  with  displeasure  ;  "  by 
heavens,  they  dare  not  provoke  me  by  so  gross  an 
act  of  treachery !" 

"  I  do  not  think  they  intend  it,"  returned  De  Va- 
lette ;  "  but  you  know  there  is  a  powerful  opposi- 
tion to  our  interest  in  this  good  town,  and  if  any  of 
their  worthy  teachers  should  chance  to  hit  upon  a 
text  of  scripture  which  they  could  interpret  against 
us, — farewell  to  the  expected  aid  !  Nay,"  he  added, 
laughing,  "  I  believe  there  are  already  some,  who 
fancy  they  see  the  cloven  foot  of  popery  beneath 
our  plain  exterior,  and,  if  that  should  once  shew 
itself,  why,  they  would  as  soon  fight  for  the  devil, 
to  whom  they  might  think  us  very  closely  allied."^ 

"  You  forget,  Eustace,"  said  La  Tour,  lowering 
liis  voice,  and  looking  cautiously  around,  "  that  we 
stand  on  open  ground,  and  a  bird  of  the  air  may 
carry  our  secrets  to  some  of  these  long-eared,  cant- 
ing hypocrites !  but  go  now,  muster  your  vdlun- 
teers  as  soon  as  possible,  and  our  sails  once  spread 
to  a  fair  wind,  their  scruples  will  avail  them  little." 

The  apprehensions  of  De  Valette  were  not  with- 
out foundation,  and  his  keen  observation  had  de- 
tected symptoms  of  retraction  in  some  who  were  at 
lirst  most  forward  in  their  profters  of  service.  The 
decision  of  the  magistrates  ?  id  been  very  generally 
condemned  by  the  graver  part  of  the  community  ; 


,rif 


53 


KIVALS    OF   ACADIA. 


H^. 


its  advocates  were  principally  found  among  tho 
young  and  enterprising,  who  gladly  embraced  any 
opportunity  to  signalize  their  courage  and  activity. 
With  these,  Arthur  Stanhope  was  conspicuous  for 
his  zeal  and  perseverance,  though  he  had  many  dif- 
ficulties to  contend  against,  arising  from  the  inve- 
terate prejudices  of  his  father. 

"  It  is  a  cause,  m  which  we  have  no  lot  or  por- 
tion," said  the  elder  Stanhope,  in  reply  to  his  son's 
nrguments ;  "  neither  is  it  right  that  we  should 
draw  upon  ourselves  the  vengeance  of  M.  d'Aul- 
ney,  by  strengthening  the  power  of  a  rival,  who, 
perchance,  hath  no  more  of  justice,  or  the  king's 
favor,  than  himself." 

"  The  public,"  said  Arthur,  *'  is  not  responsible 
for  the  act  of  a  few  individuals  ;  and  the  evil,  if  any 
exists,  must  fall  entirely  on  our  own  heads." 

"  Tt  is  an  idle  distinction,  which  the  injured  par- 
ly will  never  acknowledge,"  returned  the  father  ; 
•'  and  I  much  wonder  that  the  governor  and  magis- 
trates sutfer  themselves  to  be  blinded  by  such  vain 
pretences." 

"  We  shall  at  least  serve  a  good  cause,"  replied 
Arthur,  "  by  humbling  the  arrogant  pretensions  of 
a  papist, — one  who  has  set  up  a  cross,  and  openly 
bowed  before  it,  on  the  very  borders  of  our  terri- 
tory." 

"  And  are  you  sure  that  the  adventurer,  La  Tour, 
is  free  from  the  idolatry  of  that  abominable  church  ?'* 
asked  Mr.  Stanhope. 


niVAI.9   OV  ACADIA. 


53*. 


our  tern- 


•'  We  should,  I  think,  have  the  charity  to  believe 
so,  till  it  is  fully  and  fairly  contradicted,"  said  Ar- 
thur; "  we  know  that  the  crew  of  his  vessel  are 
mostly  protestants  from  Rochelle,  and  would  they 
follow  the  standard  of  a  popish  adventurer?" 

"  You  are  young,  Arthur,"  returned  his  father, 
"  and  know  not  yet  the  wiles  of  the  deceiver  ;  God 
forgive  me,  if  I  am  uncharitable,  but  the  testimony 
of  many  worthy  persons  goes  to  prove,  that  this, 
same  La  Tour  hath  openly  employed  a  rfionkish- 
priest,  dressed  in  the  habit  of  a  layman,  as  his  agent 
in  important  concerns." 

"  These  persons  may  have  been  mistaken,  father  y 
at  any  rate,  if  we  do  sin,  it  is  in  ignorance,  and  wer 
are  certainly  not  accountable  for  the  errors  of 
others." 

"  So,  doubtless,  reasoned  Jehoshaphat,"  his  fa- 
ther replied,  "  when  he  was  tempted,  by  a  lying: 
spirit,  to  join  with  Ahab,  an  idolater,  against  Ra- 
moth-Gilead  ;  and  was  he  not  reproved  for  helping, 
the  ungodly  ?" 

"The  cases  appear  to  me  widely  different,'*' 
said  Arthur  ;  ^*  and,  in  the  present  instance,  I  think 
we  only  obey  the  dictates  of  Christian  charity,, 
which  enjoins  us  to  assist  the  stranger  in  his  did-^ 
tress." 

"  You  know  my  opinion,  Arthnr,"  returned  Iii9» 
father,  "and  I  shall  not  prohibit  you  from  follow- 
ing your  inclination,  bs  you  are  of  an  age  to  act  and' 
judge  for  yourself;  but  I  reqtiire  yoa  to  weigh  the 

6* 


64 


BITALS   or  ACADIA. 


r.'.M 


matter  maturely,  and  not  yield,  without  due  consi- 
deration, to  the  impulse  of  an  adventurous  disposi- 
tion." 

Arthur  Stanhope  readily  promised  to  deliberate, 
and  decide  with  the  utmost  caution  ;  and  the  result 
of  ihis  deliberation  was,  to  accept  the  command  of 
a  vessel  of  respectable  force,  which  La  Tour  had 
taken  into  his  service.  Three,  of  smaller  size,  the 
whole  manned  by  about  eighty  volunteers,  com- 
pleted the  equipment.  Thus  successful,  M.  la  Tour 
sailed  from  Boston,  expressing  the  utmost  respect 
and  gratitude  to  its  citizens,  for  the  friendly  aid 
they  had  granted  to  him. 

The  little  fleet  made  a  gallant  show,  spreading 
its  white  sails  to  woo  the  summer  breeze,  and  bold- 
ly ploughing  the  deep  waters  of  the  bay.  A  part- 
ing salute  rolled  heavily  along  the  adjacent  shores, 
and  was  succeeded  by  the  sprightly  notes  of  a 
French  horn,  which  floated  merrily  over  the  waves. 
The  town,  and  its  green  environs,  shortly  receded, 
the  distant  hills  faded  in  the  horizon,  and  the  eme- 
rald isles  lay,  like  specks,  on  the  bosom  of  the 
ocean.  Soon,  the  blended  sky  and  water  were  the 
only  objects  on  which  the  eye  could  rest ;  and  Ar- 
thur Stanhope  felt  his  spirits  rise,  as  he  again 
launched  forth  on  the  changeful  element  which  he 
had  loved  from  childhood.  Nothing  occurred  to 
interrupt  their  passage,  till  they  had  advanced  far 
up  the  Bay  of  Fundy,  when  the  wind  suddenly  died 
away,  and  left  them  becalmed,  within  a  few  houfs 


mVALS   Of  ACADIA. 


65 


snil  of  the  St.  John's.  This  accident  was  a  season- 
able warning  to  D'Aulney,  who  then  lay  near  the 
mouth  of  the  river,  waiting  for  La  Tour's  return  ; 
but,  being  apprized  of  his  reinforcement,  he  pru- 
dently retreated  from  the  unequal  conflict.  With 
the  caution  of  experience,  he  successfully  avoided 
La  Tour's  track ;  and  the  latter,  who  felt  already 
sure  of  his  prey,  had  at  last  the  vexation  to  disco- 
ver him,  at  a  safe  distance,  and  when  the  wind  and 
tide  rendered  pursuit  impossible.  A  thick  fog, 
which  soon  began  to  rise,  entirely  separated  them ; 
and  approaching  night  rendered  it  expedient  to  an- 
chor, until  the  return  of  day.  A  report  of  M.  d'Aul- 
ney's  menaced  attack  on  the  fort  had  already  reach- 
ed La  Tour,  though  it  was  too  confused  to  convey 
much  information,  or  relieve  his  extreme  anxiety. 
But  he  endured  the  suspense  far  better  than  his 
lieutenant,  who  made  no  attempt  to  conceal  his 
vexation  at  the  necessary  delay.  After  pacing  the 
deck  for  some  time  in  silence,  he  suddenly  ex- 
claimed to  La  Tour, 

"  It  is  tedious  beyond  measure  to  lie  here,  becalm<> 
ed  almost  within  sight  of  the  fort !  and  then  so  little 
relianoe  can  be  placed  on  the  flying  reports  which 
we  have  heard  !  I  wish,  as  nothing  can,  at  any  rate, 
be  done  to-night,  you  would  allow  me  to  push  off 
in  a  boat  by  myself  and  reconnoitre  with  my  own 
eyes." 

"  And  leave  me  to  meet  the  enemy  wii  bout  you 


i 


'"^^IV*^^, 


n 


5G 


mVALS   OF   ACADIA. 


7  j;4 


'f  f    ' 


i 


kr 


strange 


in  the  morning ; — is  that  your  intention  r"  asked  Lft 
Tour,  pettishly. 

"  You  do  not  ask  that  question  seriously,  I  pre- 
sume f"  said  De  Valette. 

"  Why,  not  exactly,    Eustace,"   ho   answered ; 
"  though   I   confess   I   think    it  rather  a 
request  to  make  just  at  this  time." 

"  Why  so  ?"  asked  De  Valette ;  "  I  would  only 
borrow  a  few  hours  from  repose,  and  my  plan  may 
be  accomplished  with  ease; — nor  shall  you  have 
reason  to  complain,  that  I  am  tardy  at  the  call  of 
duty." 

"  I  understand  you  now,  my  brave  nephew  and 
lieutenant,"  said  La  Tour,  smiling;  "you  would 
play  the  lover  on  this  moonlight  night,  and  serenade 
the  lady  of  your  heart,  to  apprise  her  of  your  safe 
return." 

"  There  was  not  quite  so  much  romance  in  my 
plot,"  replied  De  Valette  ;  "  but  if  you  permit  me 
to  execute  it,  I  pledge  myself  to  return  before  mid- 
night ;  and  though  you  are  not  a  lover,  I  am  sure 
you  are  far  from  being  indiiferent  to  the  intelligence 
whieh  I  may  bring  you." 

"  Go,  if  you  will,  if  you  can  in  safety,"  said  La 
Tour ;  "  though,  could  your  impatience  brook  the 
delay  of  a  few  short  hours,  it  would  be  well — well 
for  yourself,  perhaps  ;  for  if  I  remember  right,  you 
could  ill  bear  a  look  of  coldness,  and  Lucie  is  not 
always  lavish  of  her  smiles." 


»  ( 


k 


y  \ 


:  mi!. It* 


IIIVALS   OF   ICADIA. 


87 


>n  f "  asked  Ln 


iously,  I  pre- 


10   answered  : 
ler  a  strange 


I  would  only 
my  plan  may 
lall  you  have 
at  the  call  of 

nephew  and 

"you  would 

and  serenade 

'  of  your  safe 


nance  in  my 

►u  permit  me 

before  mid- 

,  I  am  sure 

intelligence 


ty,"  said  La 
e  brook  the 
!  well — well 
sr  right,  you 
ucie  is  not 


"  I  fear  it  not,"  said  De  Valettc ;  "  she  would  not 
^jreet  me  coldly  after  so  long  an  absence ;  and 
though  you  smile  at  my  folly,  I  am  not  ashamed  to 
confess  my  eagerness  to  see  her." 

"  She  already  knows  her  power  over  you  but  too 
well,"  said  La  Tour ;  "  shew  her  that  you  are  indif- 
lerent — disdainful,  if  you  like — and  trust  me,  she 
will  learn  to  prize  the  love,  which  she  now  pretends 
to  slight." 

"  The  heart  of  woman  must  be  wayward  indeed," 
said  De  Valette,  "  if  such  is  its  nature  or  artifice ; 
but  my  hopes  are  not  so  desperate  yet,  and  if  my 
memory  serves  me  truly,  T  have  more  smiles  than 
frowns  on  record." 

With  these  words,  De  Valette  threw  himself  into 
a  small  boat,  and  in  a  few  moments  reached  the 
shore.  He  entered  the  hut  of  a  half-civilized 
Indian,  and  to  avoid  being  recognized  by  any  of 
D'Aulney's  people  whom  he  might  chance  to  en- 
counter, borrowed  his  savage  attire,  and  in  that 
disguise  proceeded  to  the  fort,  near  which  he  met 
the  page  of  Mad.  la  Tour,  as  has  been  already 
related. 


ci 


V, 


i> 


58 


RIVALS    OF   ACADIA. 


W 


CHAPTER   V. 


He  that  depends 
I'pon  j'our  favoins,  swims  uiili  fins  of  lead, 
And  liews  down  oiiks  with  rii&hcs.     Flang  ye  I  Trust  ye  ? 
With  evtry  minute  you  do  change  a  mind. 

SflAKSPEARE. 


.    I^i 


De  Vale?te  was  true  to  his  engagement,  and 
before  the  p;omised  hour,  returned  in  safety  to  his 
ship.  With  tile  Hrst  dawn  of  day,  the  vessels  were 
put  in  readiness  to  weigh  anchor,  and  sail  at  a 
moment's  warning.  At  that  crisis,  La  Tour  had 
the  vexation  of  finding  his  plans  well  nigh  frustrat- 
ed by  the  stubborness  of  his  New-England  allies. 
Alleging  that  *hfy  were  restricted  by  their  engage- 
ment to  see  La  Tour  in  safety  to  his  fort,  a  large 
majority  resolutely  declined  committing  any  act  of 
aggression,  or  joining  in  an  attack  which  might 
be  considered  beyoiid  the  limits  of  their  treaty. 
Excessively  provoked  at  what  he  termed  their 
absurd  scruples.  La  Tour  sent  his  lieutenant  to 
request  a  few  of  the  leading  men  to  meet  aboard 
his  vessel,  hoping  to  prevail  with  them  to  relinquish 
their  ill-timed  doubts.  He  walked  the  quarter- 
deck with  impatient  steps,  while  waiting  the  boat'* 


BIVALS   or   ACADIA. 


59 


return,  and  even  his  French  complaisance  could 
not  disguise  the  chagrin  and  anger  which  he  felt. 

'•  I  have  desired  your  attendance  here,  gentle- 
men," he  said  in  a  haughty  tone,  as  they  approached 
iiiin,  "  to  learn  how  far  I  may  rely  on  the  services 
which  have  been  so  freely  proH'ered  to  me." 

"  As  far  as  our  duty  to  God  and  our  country  will 
permit,  sir,"  replied  one,  whose  seniority  entitled 
him  to  take  a  lead  in  the  discourse. 

"  Mr.  Leveret  hath  spoken  rightly,"  said  another ; 
"  and  I  question  if  it  is  our  duty  to  draw  the  sword 
when  we  are  not  expressly  called  to  do  so,  and 
especially,  as  in  this  instance,  when  it  would  seem 
far  better  for  it  to  remain  in  the  scabbard." 

"  I  am  ignorant,"  said  La  Tour,  contemptuously. 
"  of  that  duty  which  would  lead  a  man  to  play  the 
coward  in  a  moment  of  difficulty,  and  tamely  turn 
from  an  enemy,  who  has  insultingly  defied  him, 
when  one  uflbrt  can  crush  him  in  his  grasp." 

"  We  are  not  actuated  by  revenge,"  returned  Mr. 
Leveret ;  "  neither  have  we  pledged  ourselves  to 
support  your  quarrel  with  M.  d'Aulney  ;  but  touch- 
ing our  agreement  to  convoy  you  to  your  fort  of  St. 
John's,  we  are  ready  to  fulfil  it,  ev?n  at  the  peril  of 
our  lives." 

"These  are  nice  distinctions,"  said  La  Tour, 
angrilyj;  "  and  had  you  explained  them  more  fully 
at  the  outset,  I  should  have  known  what  dcpend- 
•*ncc  could  be  placed  on  your  protection." 


^ 


60 


BIVALS    Of  ACADIA. 


)] 


"  We  abhor  deceit,"  said  Mr.  Leveret,  calmly  : 
"  and  that  which  we  have  promised,  we  are  ready 
to  perform  ;  but  we  are  not  permitted  to  turn  aside 
from  this  design,  to  pursue  an  enemy  who  flees 
before  us." 

"  As  our  conduct  in  this  affair  is  entirely  a  mat- 
ter of  conscience  and  private  opinion,"  said  Arthur 
Stanhope,  "  I  presume  every  one  is  at  liberty  to 
consult  his  own  wishes,  and  follow  the  dictates  of 
his  own  judgment ;  for  myself,  I  have  freely  offered 
to  assist  M.  de  la  Tour  to  the  extent  of  my  abilities, 
and  I  wait  his  commands?  in  whatever  service  he 
may  choose  to  employ  me." 

"  I  expected  this,  from  the  honour  of  your  profes- 
sion ;  and  the  frankness  of  your  character,"  said 
La  Tour,  with  warmth;  "and  believe  me,  your 
laurels  will  not  be  tarnished,  in  the  cause  you  have 
so  generously  espoused." 

"  I  trust,  young  man,"  said  Mr.  Leveret,  "  that 
you  are  aware  of  the  responsibility  you  incur,  by 
acting  thus  openly  in  opposition  to  the  opinion  of 
so  many  older  and  more  experienced  than  yourself." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  that  many  will  be  ready  to 
censure  me,"  returned  Stanhope  ;  "  and  some,  per- 
haps, whose  judgments  I  much  respect ;  but  I  stand 
acquitted  to  my  own  conscience,  and  am  ready  to 
give  an  answer  for  what  I  do,  to  any  who  have  a 
right  to  question  me." 

"  And  the  crew  of  your  vessel  ?" — asked  Mr.  La- 
veret. 


KIVALS   OV   ACADIA. 


61 


asked  Mr.  La- 


"  I  shall  use  no  undue  influence  with  any  one," 
interrupted  Stanhope ;  •*  though  I  think  there  is 
scarcely  a  man  in  my  service,  who  is  not  resolved 
to  follow  me  to  the  end  of  this  enterprise." 

"  We  part,  then,"  said  Mr.  Leveret ;  "  and  may 
heaven  prosper  you  in  all  your  lauful  undertake 
ings." 

"  Your  emphasis  on  the  word  lauful,"  returned 
Stanhope,  "  implies  a  doubt,  which  I  hope  will  soon 
be  discarded ;  but,  in  the  mean  time,  let  as  many 
as  choose  return  with  you,  and  I  doubt  not  there 
will  be  enough  left  with  us  to  assist  M.  de  la  Tour 
on  this  occasion." 

The  conference  wa?  shortly  terminated ;  and  it 
was  amicably  settled,  that  those  who  hesitated  to 
depart  from  the  strict  letter  of  their  agreement, 
should  proceed  in  three  of  the  English  vessels, 
with  M.  de  la  Tour,  to  fort  St.  John's.  De  Valette 
and  Stanhope  were  left  in  command  of  the  two 
largest  ships,  with  discretionary  powers  to  employ 
them  as  circumstances  might  render  expedient. 

The  delay  which  these  arrangements  necessarily 
occasioned,  was  in  oroved  to  the  utmost  by  M. 
(I'Aulney.  Convinced,  that  he  was  unable  to  cope 
with  the  superior  force,  which  opposed  him,  he  took 
advantage  of  a  favorable  wind,  and,  at  an  early 
hour,  crowded  sail  for  his  fort  at  Penobscot.  De 
Valette  and  Stanhope  pursued,  as  soon  as  they 
were  at  liberty ;  but,  though  they  had  occasional 
iflimpscs  of  his  vessels  through  the  day,  they  found 

6 


s^"' 


C2 


mVALS   OF  ACADIA. 


Ld[v' , 


H 


n 


it  impossible  to  come  up  with  them.  Night  at 
length  terminated  the  fruitless  chase  ;  they  were 
imperfectly  acquainted  with  the  coast,  and  again 
obliged  to  anchor,  when  day-light  no  longer  served 
to  direct  their  course  in  the  difficult  waters  they 
were  navigating. 

Morning  shone  brightly  on  the  wild  shores  of  the 
Penobscot,  within  whos<^  ample  basin  the  vessels  of 
De  Valette  and  Stanhope  rode  securely  at  <.  ;chor. 
The  waves  broke  gently  around  them,  and  the 
beautiful  islands,  which  adorn  the  bay,  garlanded 
with  verdure  and  blossoms,  seemed  /ejoicing  in  the 
brief  but  brilliant  summer,  which  had  opened  upon 
them.  Dark  forests  of  evergreens,  intermingled 
with  the  lighter  foliage  of  the  oak,  the  maple,  and 
other  deciduous  trees,  covered  the  extensive  coast, 
and  fringed  the  borders  of  the  noble  Penobscot, 
which  rolled  its  silver  tide  from  tiie  interior  lakes 
to  mingle  with  the  waters  of  the  ocean.  The  foot- 
steps of  civilized  man  seemed  scarcely  to  have 
pressed  the  soil,  which  the  hardy  native  had  for 
ages  enjoyed  as  his  birthright;  and  the  axe  and 
ploughshare  had  yet  rarely  invaded  the  hunting 
grounds,  where  he  pursued  the  wild  deer,  and  rous- 
ed the  wolf  from  his  lair.  A  few  French  settlers, 
who  adhered  to  D'Aulney,  had  built  and  planted 
around  the  fort,  which  stood  on  a  point  of  land, 
jutting  into  the  broad  mouth  of  the  river,  and  these 
were  the  only  marks  of  cultivation  which  disturbed 
the  vast  wilderness  that  spread  around  them. 


\^: 


BIVALS   OF  ACADIl. 


68 


The  local  advantages  of  this  situation,  rendered 
it  a  place  of  consequence,  and  its  possession  hp.l 
already  been  severely  contested.  As  a  military 
post,  on  the  verge  of  the  En^^'ish  colonies,  its  re- 
tention was  important  to  the  French  interest  in 
Acadia;  and  the  extensive  commerce  it  opened 
with  the  natives  in  the  interior,  through  the  navi- 
gable streams,  which  emptied  into  the  bay,  was  a 
source  of  private  emolume«?t,  that  D'Aulney  was 
anxious  to  secure.  To  retain  these  advantages,  he 
wished  to  avoid  an  engagement  with  La  Tour, 
whose  newly  acquired  strength  rendered  him,  at 
that  time,  a  formidable  opponent.  He  was,  there- 
fore, anxious  to  preserve  his  small  naval  force  from 
destruction,  and,  for  that  purpose,  he  found  it  ne- 
cessary to  run  his  vessels  into  shallow  water, 
where  the  enemy's  heavier  ships  could  not  follow. 

This  plan  was  accomplished  during  the  night; 
and  when  De  Valette  and  Stanhope  approached 
the  fort,  at  an  early  hour,  they  were  surprised  to 
find  that  D'Aulney  had  drawn  his  men  on  shore, 
and  thrown  up  intrenchments  to  defend  the  land- 
ing-place. Though  baffled  in  their  first  design  by 
this  artifice,  they  were  but  the  more  zealous  to 
effect  some  object  which  might  realize  the  expec- 
tations of  La  Tour.  With  this  intention,  they 
passed  up  the  narrow  channel  to  the  north  of  the 
peninsula,  in  boats  ;  and  landing  a  portion  of  their 
men,  attacked  M.  d'Aulney  in  his  intrenchments. 
The  assault  was  so  sudden  and  determined,  that 


I\ 


'       ! 


04 


UtVALS   OV   A(!AXIIA. 


cvory  obstacle  yicMod  to  its  impetuosity,  nixi 
O'Aulney  in  vftin  cmleavoictl  to  rally  liis  soldicis. 
who  (\ed  in  confusion  to  the  shelter  of  the  fort, 
leoving  Hcveral  of  their  number  deail  ami  vvouml- 
ed  in  the  trenches.  Convinced,  that  it  would  be 
vashn^sa  to  pursue,  ns  the  fort  was  well  nuuined, 
and  eopabic  of  strong  resistonee,  the  yoimg  oHi- 
ecrs  drew  ot^"  their  men  in  good  order,  and  riHurn- 
ed  to  their  vessels  without  the  loss  of  an  individual. 
They  remained  in  the  boy  of  reiu>bscot  for  several 
days,  when,  cotivineed  that  nothing  nuire  could  be 
done  ot  that  time,  they  thought  it  a<lvisable  to  re- 
turn to  St.  John's. 

Night  wos  closing  in.  as  the  vessels  drew  near 
the  entrance  of  the  river;  every  sail  was  set,  and  a 
stitV  brec7.e  bore  them  sw  t\ly  onward.  A  bright 
sti*eak  still  lingered  in  the  westevn  horizon,  and  in 
the  east,  a  few  stars  began  to  glinmicr  through  the 
ha/.y  atmosphere.  The  watch-lights  of  the  fort  at 
length  broke  cheerfully  on  the  gloom,  and  strong- 
ly contrasted  with  the  dark  line  of  forests,  which 
frowned  on  the  opposite  sho.'c.  The  boding  notes 
v)f  the  screech-owl,  and  the  howling  of  wild  beasts, 
which  came  from  their  deep  recesses,  were  silenc- 
ed by  the  animating  strains  of  martial  music,  which 
enlivened  the  solitary  scene.  They  anchored  be- 
fore the  walls,  and  the  friendly  signal  of  l)e  Va- 
lette  was  quickly  answered  by  the  sentinel  on  duty. 
\V\\h  light  footsteps  the  young  Frenchman  sprang 


KITAM   OP   iCADll. 


60 


on  sljorc,  nticl  followed  by  Arthur  Stanhopo,  paised 
the  gateway,  which  led  to  the  interior  of  the  fort. 

"Mcthlnks  the  gurriRon  have  retired  early  to- 
night," said  l)e  Valelte  ;  **  there  ift  tcarccly  a  face 
lo  bo  seen,  except  a  few  long-fkvorcd  Preibytori- 
ans  ; — it  is  n  Catholic  holiday,  too,  and  our  soldiers 
arc  not  wont  to  let  Auch  puss  by  without  a  merry- 
making. Tlo,  Ronald !"  ho  continued,  addressing 
the  guard,  "  what  is  in  the  wind  now,  my  honest 
fellow  ?  arc  you  all  dead,  or  asleep  within  here  ?" 

"  Neither,  please  your  honor,"  he  answered,  in  a 
dolorous  accent ;  ''  but  what  is  worse,  they  have  all 
gone  astray,  and  arc,  oven  now,  looking  with  sinful 
eyes  upon  the  wicked  ceremonies  of  that  abomina- 
ble church  of  Rome." 

"You  nrc  warm,  good  Ronald;  but  where  is 
your  lord  ?" 

"  Even  gone  with  the  multitude,  in  this  evil  mat- 
ter ;  and,  as  our  worthy  teacher,  Mr.  Broadhead, 
hath  observed,  it  is  a  double  condemnation  for  one 
like  him—" 

"Hush,  sirrah!"  interrupted  t)e  Valette,  sharp- 
ly ;  "  not  a  word  of  disrespect  to  your  lord  and 
commander,  or  I  will  throw  you,  and  your  worthy 
teacher,  over  the  walls  of  the  fort.  Speak  at  once, 
man,  and  tell  me,  what  has  taken  pkco  here.*^ 

"  It  is  a  bridal,  please  your  honor,  and — " 

"A  bridal  !"  exclaimed  De  Valetic,  rapidly 
changing  color  ;  "and  where  have  you  found  a 
bride  and  bridegroom,  in  this  wilderniBSs  ?" 

6* 


66 


BIYALS   Of   ACADIA. 


**  My  lady's  young "  Ronald  began ;  but  Dc 

Valette  waited  not  to  hear  the  conclusion,  for  at 
that  moment  a  light,  strepming  from  a  low  buildiiig 
opposite,  attracted  his  attention,  and,  with  nervous 
irritability,  he  advanced  towards  it.  It  was  the 
building  used  for  a  Catholic  chapel,  and  the  light 
proceeded  from  a  nuptial  procession,  which  was 
then  issuing  from  it.  Two  boys  walked  before  it, 
in  loose  black  garments,  with  white  scarfs  thrown 
over  their  shoulders,  and  bearing  flaming  torches 
in  their  hands.  Next  came  father  Gilbert,  with 
slow,  thoughtful  steps ;  and  La  Tour  beside  him, 
with  the  stern,  abstracted  countenance  of  one,  who 
had  little  concern  in  the  ceremonies,  which  he  sanc- 
tioned by  his  presence.  Behmd  them  was  the 
bridegroom,  a  handsome  young  soldier,  who  looked 
fondly  on  the  blushing  girl,  who  leaned  upon  his 
arm,  and  had  just  plighted  her  faith  to  him,  by  an 
irrevocable  vow.  The  domestics  of  La  Tour's 
household  followed,  with  the  Catholic  part  of  the 
garrison ;  and,  as  soon  as  the  door  of  the  chapel 
closed,  a  lively  air  was  struck  up,  in  honor  of  the 
joyful  occasion. 

"I  am  a  fool,"  murmured  De  Valette  to  himself, 
when  a  full  examination  had  satisfied  him, — "  an 
e.i'ant  fool;  His  strange, that  one  image  must  be 
forever  in  my  mind ;  that  I  should  tremble  at  the 
very  sound  of  a  bridal,  lest,  perchance,  it  might  be 
Aer'«." 

Ashamed  of  the  emotion  he  had  involuntarily  be- 


mVAIid  OF  ACADIA. 


C7 


trayed,  De  Valette  turned  to  look  for  Stanhope,  who 
remained  on  the  spot,  where  he  had  left  him,  en- 
grossed by  a  scene,  which  was  amusing  from  its 
novelty,  and  the  singularity  of  time  and  place  where 
it  occurred. 

"  You  must  excuse  me,  Stanhope,"  he  said : 
•'  but  my  curiosity,  for  once,  exceeded  my  polite- 
ness ;  it  is  not  often  that  we  '  murry,  and  give  in 
marriage,'  in  this  wilderness, — though  I  will,  by 
and  by,  shew  you  a  damsel,  whom  kings  might  sue 
for." 

"  My  curiosity  is  excited  now,"  returned  Stan- 
hope ;  "  and,  if  beauty  is  so  rare  with  you,  beware 
how  you  lead  me  into  temptation.  It  is  an  old  re- 
mark, that  love  flies  from  the  city,  and  is  most  dan- 
gerous amidst  the  simplicity  of  nature." 

"  Forewarned,  forearmed ;  remember,"  said  De 
Valette,  laughing,  "  I  am  a  true  friend,  but  I  could 
ill  brook  a  rival." 


•«♦• 


0 


?T 


0^ 


RIVALS    OV  ACADIA. 


■^.y 


OKAVTBR   VZ. 


tidod  my  complexion!  dost  flioo  think,  though 
1  am  caparisoned  like  a  man,  I  have  a  doublet 
And  hose  in  my  disposition  ? 

Shakspcark. 


m 


M 


1)k  Valkttk  and  Stanhope  continued  to  watch 
the  procession  till  it  stopped  before  the  door  of  a 
comfortable  house,  which  was  occupied  by  La  Tour 
nnd  his  family.  There,  the  music  ceased,  the  sol- 
diers filed  off  to  their  respective  quarters,  and  the 
new  married  pair  received  the  parting  benediction 
of  father  Gilbert.  That  ceremony  concluded,  the 
priest  retired,  as  if  dreading  the  contamination  of 
any  festive  scene,  attended  only  by  the  two  boys 
who  had  officiated  as  torch-bearers, — a  service 
generally  performed  in  the  Catholic  church  by 
young  persons  initiated  into  the  holy  office. 

"  By  our  lady,  my  good  uncle,'*  said  De  Valette 
to  La  Tour,  who  had  seen,  and  lingered  behind  to 
speak  with  him,  "  our  Puritan  allies  would  soon 
withdraw  their  aid  from  us,  should  they  chance  to 
see,  what  I  have  witnessed  this  evening  ; — by  my 
faith,  they  would  think  the  devil  was  keeping  a 
high  holiday  here,  and  that  you  had  become  hi;: 
chief  favorite,  and  prime  minister." 


:i^^.-- 


IIIVALS  OF  ACAUIA. 


GO 


lAKSPEAIlK. 


"  Your  jcHting  is  ill-timed,  Eusincc,"  returned 
I. a  Tour;  "you  have,  indeed,  arrived  at  an  un- 
lucky4*our,  but  we  must  make  the  best  of  it ;  and, 
be  sure  that  none  of  the  New-England  men  leave 
tlic  Hliips  to-night.  I  hope  wo  Hhall  not  need  their 
succors  long,  if  you  have  aimed  a  true  blow  at 
D'Aulney.     Say,  where  have  you  left  him  r" 

"  We  have  driven  him  back  to  hiu  strong  hold. 
Hut  more  of  that  hereafter,— Mr.  Stanhope  wuitb 
to  speak  with  you." 

"  Mr.  Stanhope  is  very  welcome,"  said  La  Tour, 
advancing  cordially  to  meet  him  ;  "  and  I  trust  no 
apology  is  necessary  for  the  confusion  in  which  he 
finds  us." 

"  None,  certainly,"  returned  Stanhope  ;  "  and  I 
I  rust  you  will  not  sufl'cr  me  to  cause  any  interrup- 
tion. 1  pm  not  quite  so  superstitious,"  he  added, 
.smiling,  -  as  to  fear  contagion  from  accidentally 
\vitnessing  forms,  which  are  not  altogether  agreea- 
ble to  my  conscience." 

"  You  deserve  to  be  canonized  for  your  liberali- 
ty," said  DeValette ;  "  for  1  doubt  if  there  could  be 
another  such  rare  example  found,  in  all  the  New 
England  colonies.  We  Hugonots,"  he  continued, 
with  affected  gravity,  "  account  ourselves  less  rigid 
tlian  your  self-denying  sect,  and  are  sometimes 
drawn  into  ceremonies,  which  our  hearts  abomi- 
jiate." 

"  No  more  of  this,  Eustace,"  said  La  Tour  ;  "  Mr. 
Stanhope  must  know  that  all  of  us  are,  at  times, 


1  ' 


-*: 


70 


KIYALB   Of  ACADIA. 


* 


iiJ 


lU 


li 


governed  by  circumstonccs,  which  we  cannot  con- 
trol ;  and  ho  has  heard  enough  of  my  Hituation,  to 
conceive  the  address  which  is  necessary  to  control 
a  garrison,  composed  of  ditterent  nations  and  reli- 
gions, who  are  oflen  mutinous,  and  at  all  times  dis- 
cordant. I  should  scarcely  at  any  other  time  have 
been  so  engaged,  but  Mad.  de  la  Tour,  who  is  real- 
ly too  sincere  a  protestant  to  attend  a  Catholic  ser- 
vice, prevailed  on  me  to  be  present  at  the  marriage 
of  her  favorite  maid, — 1  migiit  almost  say  compa- 
nion,— with  a  young  soldier,  who  has  long  been  dis- 
tinguished by  his  fidelity  in  my  service." 

Before  Stanhope  could  reply  to  this  plausible  ex- 
planation, their  attention  was  attracted  by  the  sound 
of  approaching  voices,  and  the  sonorous  tones  of 
Mr.  Broadhead,  the  Presbyterian  minister,  were 
instantly  recognized. 

"  I  tell  thee,  boy,"  he  said,  "  thou  art  in  the 
broad  way  which  leadeth  to  destructiiNi." 

*'  Do  you  think  so,  father  .^"  asked  his  companion, 
who  was  one  of  the  torch-bearers,  and  still  carried 
the  blazing  insignium  of  his  office — "  and  what 
shall  I  do,  to  find  my  way  out  of  it  .^" 

*'  Abjure  the  devil  and  his  works,  if  thou  art  de- 
sirous of  returning  to  the  right  path,"  he  replied. 

*^  You  mean  the  pope  and  the  church,  1  sup- 
pose," said  the  boy,  in  a  tone  of  simplicity ;  "like 
my  lady's  chaplain,  who  often  edifies  his  hearers  on 
this  topic." 


> 


RIVALB  OT  ACADIA. 


n 


"  It  would  bo  well  for  thee  to  hearken  to  him, 
boy  ;  and  perchance  it  might  prove  a  word  in  sea- 
son to  thy  souPm  refreshment." 

*•  It  has  Romctimcs  proved  a  refreshment  to  my 
body,"  said  the  boy ;  "  h's  exhortations  are  pj) 
ravishing,  that  they  are  apt  to  lull  one  to  sound 
repose." 

"  Thou  ort  a  flippant  youth  !"  said  the  cho plain, 
stopping  abruptly,  and  speaking  in  an  accent  of 
displeasure.  "  But  I  pity  thy  delusion,"  he  added, 
after  a  brief  pause,  "  and  bid  thee  remember,  that 
if  thou  hast  access  to  the  word,  and  turnest  from  it, 
thou  can'st  not  make  the  plea  of  ignorance,  in 
extenuation  of  thy  crime." 

"  It  is  no  fault  in  me  to  believe  as  I  have  been 
taught,"  said  the  boy,  sullenly  ;  "  and  it  would  ill 
become  me,  to  dispute  the  doctrines  which  I  have 
received  from  those  who  have  a  claim  on  my  re- 
spect and  obedience." 

"They  are  evil  doctrines,  child ;  perverse  heresies 
to  lead  men  astray,  into  the  darkness  of  error  and 
idolatry." 

"  I  could  not  have  believed  it !"  answered  the 
other,  gravely  ;  '*  I  thought  I  was  listening  to  the 
truth,  from  the  lips  of  my  lady's  chaplain." 

"  And  who  says,  that  I  do  not  teach  the  truth  ? 
I,  who  have  made  it  my  study  and  delight  from  my 
youth  upwards  ?" 

"  Not  I,  truly  ;  but  your  reverence  chides  me  for 
believing  in  error,  when  my  belief  is  daily  confirm- 
ed by  your  own  instructions  and  example." 


( 


> 


i# 


l! 


72 


BIVALS  OF  ACADIA. 


"  Who  arc  you,  that  presumes  to  say  so  ?  and, 
with  these  vestments  of  Satan  on  your  back,  to 
bear  witness  to  your  falsehood?"  demanded  the 
chaplain. 

"  Now  may  the  saints  defend  me  from  your  anger  ! 
I  did  not  mean  to  oftend,"  said  the  boy,  shrinking 
from  his  extended  hand,  and  bending  his  head,  as 
if  to  count  the  beads  of  a  rosary  which  hung  around 
his  neck. 

"  Did  /  teach  you  this  mummery .?"  resumed  the 
irritated  Scot ;  "  did  I  teach  you  to  put  on  those 
robes  of  the  devil,  and  hold  that  lighted  torch  to 
him,  as  you  have  but  now  done  ? 

"  I  crave  your  pardon,"  returned  the  boy ;  "  I 
thought  it  was  my  lady's  chaplain,  whom  I  was 
lighting  across  the  yard,  but  your  reverence  knows 
the  truth  better  than  1  do. 

As  he  spoke,  he  waved  the  torch  on  high,  and 
the  light  fell  full  upon  the  excited  features  of  Mr. 
Broadhead.  A  laugh  from  De  Valette,  who  had, 
unobserved,  drawn  near  enough  to  overhear  them, 
startled  both,  and  cliccked  the  angry  reply,  which 
was  bursting  from  the  chaplain's  lips.  He  surveyed 
the  intruder  a  moment  in  stubborn  silence,  then 
quietly  retreated ;  probably  aware,  from  former  ex- 
perience, that  the  gay  young  Catholic  had  not  much 
veneration  for  his  person  or  character.  The  boy 
hastily  extinguished  his  torch,  murmuring,  in  a  low 
voice, — 


1)  I' 


.^  ^. 


BIVAXS   OF  ACADIA. 


rs 


"  His  reverence  may  find  his  way  back  in  the 
dark,  as  he  best  can ;  and  it  will  be  well  if  he  does 
not  need  the  light  of  my  torch,  before  he  is  safe  in 
his  quarters  :  light  the  devil,  indeed  !  he  took  good 
care  not  to  think  of  that,  till  be  had  served  his  own  ' 
purpose  with  it !" 

"  What  are  you  muttering  about,  boy  ?"  asked 
De  Valette. 

"  About  my  torch,  and  the  devil,  and  other  good 
Catholics,  please  your  honor,"  he  answered,  with 
a  low  bow. 

"  Have  a  care,  sirrah  !"  said  De  Valette ;  "  I  allow 
no  one,  in  my  presence,  to  speak  disrespectfully  of 
the  religijon  of  my  country." 

"  It  is  a  good  cloak,"  returned  the  boy  ;  "  and  I 
would  not  abuse  a  garment,  which  has  just  been 
serviceable  to  me,  however  worthless  it  may  be,  in 
reality." 

"  It  may  have  been  worn  by  scoundrels,"  said  Dc 
Valette  ;  "  but  its  intrinsic  value  is  not  diminished 
on  that  account.  Would  you  intimate  that  you  have 
assumed  it  to  answer  some  sinister  design  .^" 

"  And,  supposing  I  have,"  he  asked ;  "  what, 
then  r 

"  Why,  then  you  are  a  hypocrite." 

"  It  is  well  for  my  lord's  lieutenant  to  speak  of 

hypocrisy,"  said  the  boy,  laughing ;  "  it  is   like 

Satan  preaching  sanctity  ;  tell  the  good  puritans  of 

Boston,  that  the  French  Hugonot  who  worshipped 

7 


*    / 


0^ 


im^AsaiL 


i 


74 


niVAI^S   OIP  AOADIl* 


4 


\ 


in  their  conventicle  with  so  much  decorum,  is  a 
papist,  and  what,  think  you,  would  they  say  ?" 

"  Who  are  you,  that  dares  speak  to  me  thus  r" 
asked  De  Valette,  angrily. 

'"'  That  is  a  question,  which  I  do  not  choose  to 
answer ;  I  care  not  to  let  strangers  into  my  secret 
counsels." 

"  You  are  impertinent,  boy ;"  said  De  Valette, 
"  yet  your  bearing  shews  that  you  have  discernment 
enough  to  distinguish  between  right  and  wrong, 
and  you  must  be  aware  that  policy  sometimes  ren- 
ders a  disguise  expedient,  and  harmless  too,  if 
neither  honour  or  principle  are  compromised." 

"  I  like  a  disguise,  occasionally,  of  all  things," 
said  the  boy,  archly ;  "  are  you  qu'ck  at  detecting 
one  r 

"  Sometimes  I  am,"  returned  De  Valette ;  "  but — 
now,  by  my  troth,"  he  exclaimed,  starting,  and 
gazing  intently  on  him,  *'  is  it  possible,  that  you 
have  again  deceived  me  .''" 

"  Nothing  more  likely,"  answered^  the  other, 
carelessly ;  "  but,  hush !  M.  de  la  Tour,  and  the 
stranger  with  him,  are  observing  us.  See !  they 
come  this  way  :  not  a  word  more,  if  you  have  an) 
wish  to  please  me." 

"  Stay  but  one  moment,"  said  De  Valette,  grasp- 
ing his  arm ;  "  I  must  know  for  what  purpose  you 
are  thus  attired." 

"  Well,  release  me,  and  I  will  tell  you  the  whole 
truth,  though  you  might  suppose  it  was   merely 


RIVALS  Olf  ACABIA. 


75 


Iccorum,  is  c 

By  say  ?" 

to  me  thus  ?" 


^me  idle  whim.  I  wished  to  see  Annette  mar- 
ried, and  as  Mad.  de  la  Tour  thought  it  would  be 
out  of  character  for  her  page  to  appear  in  a  Catho- 
lic assembly,  I  prevailed  on  a  boy,  whom  father 
Gilbert  had  selected  to  officiate  in  the  ceremony 
to  transfer  his  dress  and  office  to  me  :  this  is  all ; — 
and  now  are  you  satisfied  ?" 

"  Better  than  I  expected  to  be,  I  assure  you  ; 
but,  for  the  love  of  the  saints,  be  careful,  or  this 
whimsical  fancy  of  your's  may  lead  to  some  unplea- 
sant consequences." 

"  Never  fear ;  I  enjoy  this  Proteus  sort  of  life 
extremely,  and  you  may  expect  to  see  me  in  some 
new  shape,  before  long." 

"  Your  own  shape  is  far  better  than  any  you  can 
assume,"  said  De  Valette  ;  "  and  by  these  silken 
locks,  which,  if  I  had  looked  at,  I  must  have  known, 
you  cannot  impose  on  me  again." 

"Twice  deceived,  beware  of  the  third  time," 
said  the  page,  laughing ;  and,  breaking  from  De 
Valette,  he  was  in  p  moment  on  the  threshold  of 
the  door. 

''  Here  is  a  newly  made  priest,  as  I  live  !"  said 
La  Tour,  catching  the  page  by  his  arm,  and  draw- 
ing him  back  a  few  paces.  "  But  methinks  your 
step  is  too  quick  and  buoyant,  my  gentle  youth,  for 
your  vocation." 

The  page  made  no  reply,  but  drooping  his  head, 
suflered  a  profusion  of  dark  ringlets  to  fall  over 
Im  face,  as  if  purposely  to  conceal  his  features. 


76 


KirAXS   OV  ACADIA. 


H) 


?^ 


"This  would  be  a  pretty  veil  for  a  girl,"  said  La 
Tour,  parting  the  hair  from  his  forehead ;  "  but,  by 
my  troth,  these  curls  ar^  out  of  place,  on  the  head 
of  a  grave  priest ;  the  shaved  crown  would  better 
become  a  disciple  of  the  austere  father  Gilbert.— 
What,  mute  still,  my  little  anchorite  f  Speak,  if 
thou  hast  not  a  vow  of  silence  on  thee  !" 

"  And  if  I  have,"  said  the  page,  pettishly,  "  I 
must  break  it,  though  it  should  cost  me  a  week's 
penance  !" 

"  Ha!  my  lady's  soi-disant  page !"  exclaimed  La 
Tour,  struck  by  the  sound  of  his  voice, — which,  in 
the  excitement  of  the  moment,  he  had  not  attempt- 
ed to  disguise, — and  drawing  him  towards  a  lamp, 
he  bent  his  searching  eye  full  upon  the  boy's  face. 

*'  I  pray  you  let  me  begone,  my  lady  waits  for 
me,"  said  the  page,  impatiently. 

"  A  pretty,  antic  trick !"  continued  La  Tour, 
withou;  iegarding  his  entreaty,  "and  played  off,  no 
doubt,  for  some  sage  purpose  !  Look,  Eustac^!" 
he  added,  laughing,  "  but  have  a  care,  that  you  do 
not  become  enamoured  of  the  holy  order  1" 

"  Look,  till  you  are  weary !"  said  Hector,  red- 
dening with  vexation ;  and  dashing  his  scarf  and 
rosary  to  the  ground,  he  hastily  unfastened  the  col- 
lar of  his  long,  black  vest,  and  throwing  it  from 
him,  stood  before  them,  dressed  as  a  page,  in  proud 
and  indignant  silence. 

"  Why,  you  blush  like  a  girl,  Hector,"  spid  La 
Tour,  tauntingly  ;  "  though  I  think,  by  the  flashing 


KIVALS   OF  ACADIA. 


77 


of  your  eye,  it  is  rather  from  anger,  than  shame. 
Look,  Mr.  Stanhope,  what  think  you  of  our  «rentle 
page,  and  ci-nevdnt  priest  ?" 

Mr.  Stanhope  was  regarding  him,  with  an  atten- 
tion, which  rendered  him  heedless  of  the  question  ; 
he  met  the  eye  of  Hector,  and  instantly  the  boy's 
cheeks  were  blanched  with  a  deadly  paleness, 
which  was  rapidly  followed  by  a  glow  of  the  deep- 
est crimson.  An  exclamation  trembled  on  Stan- 
hope's lips,  but  he  forcibly  repressed  it,  and  his 
embarrassment  wa?  unremarked.  De  Valette  had 
noticed  Hector's  changing  complexion,  and,  ;jatu- 
raily  attributing  it  to  the  confusion  occasioned  by 
a  stranger's  presence,  he  took  las  hand  with  an  ex- 
pression of  kindness,  though  greatly  surprised  to 
feci  it  tremble  within  his  own. 

"  Why,"  asked  De  ValeUe,  "  are  you  so  powerful- 
ly agitated  f " 

"  I  am  not  agitated,"  said  Hector,  starting  as 
from  a  dream  ;  "  I  was  vexed, — that  is  all ;  but  it 
is  over  now,"  and  resuming  his  usual  gaiety  of 
manner,  he  turned  to  La  Tour,  and  added, 

"  I  have  played  my  borrowed  part  long  enough 
for  this  evening,  and  if  your  own  curiosity  is  satis- 
fied, and  you  have  amused  your  friends  sufficiently 
at  my  expense,  I  will  again  crave  permission  to 
retire." 

"  Go,"  said  La  Tour, — "  go  and  doff  your  foolish 
disguises ;  it  is,  indeed,  time  to  end  this  whimsical 
farce." 

7^ 


*-t*-^ 


78 


RITAX.S  OF  ACADIA. 


f 


M 


"I  shall  obey  you,"  returned   the  page;  and 
gladly  retreated  from  his  presence 


o 


Fort  St.  John's,  on  that  evening,  presented  a 
scene  of  unusual  festivity.  La  Tour  permitted  his 
soldiers  to  celebrate  the  marriage  of  their  comrade, 
and  their  mirth  was  tb'o  more  exuberant,  from  the 
privations  they  had  of  late  endured.  Even  the  joy, 
which  the  return  of  their  commander  naturally  in- 
spired, had  been  prudently  repressed,  while  the 
New-England  vessels  were  unlading  their  supplies, 
from  respect  to  the  peculiar  feelings  of  the  people 
who  had  afforded  them  so  much  friendly  assistance. 
These  vessels  had  left  the  fort,  on  the  morning  of 
that  day ;  and  their  departure  relieved  the  garrison 
from  a  degree  of  restraint,  to  which  they  were 
wholly  unaccustomed. 

La  Tour  remained  conversing  with  Arthur  Stan- 
Iiope,  where  the  page,  who  was  soon  followed  by 
Oc  Valette,  had  left  them,  till  a  message  from  his 
lady  requested  their  presence  in  her  apartment. 
The  scene  without,  was  threatening  to  become  one 
of  noisy  revel.  Many  of  the  soldiers  had  gathered 
around  a  huge  bonfire,  amusing  themselves  with  a 
variety  of  games  ;  and,  at  a  little  distance,  a  few 
females,  their  wives  and  daughters,  were  collected 
on  a  plat  of  grass,  and  dancing  with  the  young 
men,  to  the  sound  of  a  violin.  The  shrill  fife,  the 
deep-toned  drum,  and  noisy  bag-pipe,  occasional- 
ly swellca  the  concert ;  though  the  monotonous 
strains  of  the  latter  instrument,  by  which  a  few 


RIVALS   or   ACllDTA. 


79 


'  sliirJy  Scots  performed  their  national  dance,  were 
not  always  in  pertect  unison  with  the  gay  strains  of 
the  light-hearted  Frenchmen.  Here  and  there,  a 
gloomy  Presbyterian,  or  stern  Hugonot,  was  ob- 
served, stoalinj;  along  at  a  cautious  distance  from 
these  cheerful  groups,  on  which  he  cast  an  eye  of 
aversion  and  distrust,  apparently  afraid  to  venture 
within  the  circle  of  such  unlawful  pleasures. 

"  Keep  a  sharp  eye  on  these  mad  fellows,  Ro- 
nald," said  La  Tour  to  the  sentinel  on  duty;  "and, 
if  there  is  any  disturbance,  let  me  know  it,  and, 
hcshrew  me,  if  they  have  another  holiday  to  make 
merry  with  !'* 

"  Your  honor  shall  be  obeyed,"  said  the  sentinel, 
in  r.  surly  tone. 

"  See  you  to  it,  then,"  continued  La  Tour ;  "  and 
1)0  sure  that  none  of  those  English  pass  the  gates 
to-night.  And  have  a  care,  that  you  do  not  ne- 
i^lect  my  orders,  when  your  own  hour  of  merriment 
arrives." 

"  I  have  no  lot  nor  portion  in  such  things,"  said 
Uonald,  gruffly ;  *'  for,  as  the  scripture  saith" —        ^ 

"  Have  done  with  your  texts,  Ronald,"  interrupt- 
od  La  Tour  ;  "  you  Scots  arc  forever  preaching, 
when  you  ought  to  practice  ;  your  duty  is  to  hear 
and  obey,  and  I  require  nothing  more  of  you." 

liiJo  saying,  he  turned  away,  leaving  the  guard  to 
the  solitary  indulgence  of  his  thoughts,  which  the 
amusements  of  that  evening  had  disturbed,  in  no 
ordinary  degree. 


^■^■4 


\i 


'ii. 


i 

) 


30 


EIVALS  OV   AOIDIA. 


fo.:" 


Mad.  de  la  Tour,  had  condescended  to  entertain 
the  bride  and  bridegroom  at  her  own  house ;  and 
permitted  such  of  their  companions  as  were  in- 
clined, to  join  them  on  the  festive  occasion.  These 
were  sufficient  to  form  a  cheerful  group ;  apart  from 
them,  Mad.  la  Tour  was  conversing  with  De  Va- 
lette,  and  a  lovely  girl,  who  seemed  an  object  of 
peculiar  interest  to  hin  ,  when  La  Tour  entered  the 
room  with  N     Fianliope. 

"  I  bring  )  a  \  ^nd,  to  whose  services  we  arc 
much  indebtea,  *  said  Li  Tour  to  his  lady ;  "and  1 
must  request  your  assistance,  in  endeavoring  to 
render  this  dreary  place  agreeable  to  him." 

"  I  shall  feel  inclined  to  do  all  in  my  power, 
from  selfish  motives,"  returned  the  lady,  "  inde- 
pendently of  our  personal  obligations  to  Mr.  Stan- 
hope ;  and,  I  trust,  it  is  unnecessary  to  assure  him, 
that  we  shall  be  most  happy  to  retain  him  as  our 
guest,  so  long  as  his  inchnation  will  permit  him  to 
remain." 

Stanhope  returned  a  polite  answer  to  these  civili- 
^  ties ;  but  his  thoughts  were  abstracted,  and  his  eyes 
continually  turned  towards  the  young  lady,  whose 
blushing  face  was  animated  by  an  arch  smile  of 
peculiar  meaning.  La  Tour  observed  the  slight 
confusion  of  both,  but,  attributing  it  to  another 
cause,  he  said, 

"  Allow  me,  Mr.  Stanhope,  to  present  you  to  my 
ftiir  ward.  Mademoiselle  de  Courcy,  whom,  I  per- 
ceive, you  have  already  identified  with  the  priest.. 


.f 


BIYAT.S   07  ACADIA. 


8^ 


and  page,  who  acted  so  conspicuous  a  part  this 
evening." 

'  My  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Stanhope  is  of  a 
much  longer  date,"  she  said,  quickly,  and  rising  to 
otTer  him  her  hand,  with  an  air  of  frankness,  which, 
however,  could  not  disguise  a  certain  conscious- 
ness, which  sent  the  tell-tale  blood  to  her  cheeks. 

"  It  has  been  far  too  long,"  said  Stanhope,  his 
countenance  glowing  with  delight,  "  to  suffer  me  to 
be  deceived  by  a  slight  disguise,  though  nothing 
could  be  more  unexpected  to  me,  than  the  happi' 
ness  of  meeting  with  you  here." 

*'  My  aunt  looks  very  inquisitive,"  said  the  young 
lady,  withdrawing  her  hand  ;  and,  turning  to  Mad. 
de  la  Tour,  she  continued,  •'  I  have  been  so  fortu- 
nate as  to  recognize  an  ol<J  friend  in  Mr.  Stanhope ; 
one,  with  w'iose  ♦hmily  my  aunt  Rossville  was  on 
terms  of  the  strictest  intimacy,  during  our  short 
residence  in  England." 

"  My  sister's  friends  are  doubly  welcome  to  me," 
said  Mild,  la  Tour  ;  "  and  I  shall  esteem  the  arrival 
of  Mr.  Stanhope  particularly  fortunate  to  us." 

"  It  is  singular,  indeed,  that  you  should  meet  so 
very  unexpectedly,  in  this  obscure  corner  of  the 
earth !"  said  De  Valette,  endeavouring  to  speak 
with  gaiety,  though  he  had  remarked  their  mutual 
embarrassment  with  secret  uneasiness ; — "  how  can 
you  account  for  it,  Lucie .''" 

"  I  am  not  philosophic  enough  to  resolve  such 
<lifficult  questions,"  she  answered,  smiling ;   "  but. 


'  II 


iWilfii'vit 


iSiA^.-   __i;..;:^L.. 


82 


BIVALS   OV  ACADIA. 


a 


yonder  arc  the  musicians,  waiting  to  sooth  us  with 
the  melody  of  sweet  sounds  ;  we  are  all  prepared 
for  a  dance,  and  here  is  my  hand,  if  you  will  look  a 
little  more  in  the  dancing  mood, — if  not,  I  can 
choose  another." 

"  Do  as  you  like,"  said  De  Valette,  carelessly  j 
"strangers  are  often  preferred  before  tried  friends." 

"Yes,  when  tried  friends  look  coldly  on  us," 
said  Lucie,  "  as  you  do  now, — so,  fare  thee  well ; 
there  is  a  plump  damsel,  with  an  eye  like  Juno's,  I 
commend  her  to  thee  for  a  partner." 

She  turned  quickly  from  him,  and  speaking  a  few 
words  to  Stanhope,  they  joined  the  dancers  together. 
De  Valette  remained  standing  a  few  moments  in 
moody  silence ;  but  the  exhilstratiiig  strains  of  the 
violin  proved  as  irresistible  as  the  blast  of  Oberon's 
horn,  and,  selecting  a  pretty  ^naiden,  he  mingled  in 
the  dance,  and  was  soon  again  the  gayest  of  the 

gay* 


*.: 


-  >*-•» 


RITALS   OF  ACADIA. 


8S 


I  (]cem*d  that  time,  I  deemM  that  pride 
Had  quench^  at  length  my  boyish  flame; 

Nor  knew,  till  seated  by  thy  side, 
My  heart  in  nil,  save  hope,  the  same. 

Lord  Btro.v. 


"  Then  you  do  not  think  Mademoiselle  de  Courcy 
very  beautiful?"  asked  De  Valette,  detaining  Stan- 
liope  a  moment  after  the  family  had  retired. 

"  Not  exactly  beautiful,"  replied  Stanhope  ; 
•'  though  she  has, — what  is  in  my  opinion  far  more 
captivating, — grace,  spirit,  and  intelligence,  with 
beauty  enough,  I  allow,  to  render  her — " 

*'  Quite  irresistible,  you  would  say  !"  interrupted 
De  Valette ;  "  but,  in  good  truth,  I  care  not  to  hear 
you  finish  the  sentence,  with  such  a  lover-like  panc- 


I" 


gyric 

"  Your  admiration  of  her  is  very  exclusive,"  said 
Stanhope,  smiling ;  ''  but  you  should  not  ask  an 
opinion,  which  you  are  not  willing  to  hear  candid- 
ly expressed." 

"  I  have  no  fear  of  the  truth,"  answered  De  Va- 
lette ;  *'  and,  after  a  voluntary  absence  of  two  years, 
on  your  part,  I  can  scarcely  suspect  you  of  feeling 
a  verv  tender  interest  in  the  ladv." 


1 


4 


i 


84 


BIT ALB   OF  ACADIA. 


"  Your  inference  is  not  conclusive,"  returned 
Stanhope  ;  "  and  I  should  much  doubt  the  truth  of 
that  love,  or  friendship,  which  could  not  withstand 
the  trial  of  even  a  more  prolonged  absence." 

**  I  suspect  there  are  few  who  would  bear  that 
test,"  said  De  Valette,  who  evidently  wished  to  pe- 
netrate the  real  sentiments  of  Stanhope;  "and  one 
must  have  perseverance,  indeed,^  who  can  remain 
constant  to  Lucie,  through  all  her  whims  and  dis- 


guises. 


i( 


}> 


Her  gaiety  springs  from  a  light  and  innocent 
heart,"  replied  Stanhope  ;  "  and  only  renders  her 
more  piquant  and  interesting; — but,  speaking  ot 
disguises,  -how  long,  may  I  ask,  has  she  played 
the  pretty  page,  and  for  what  purpose  was  the  cha- 
racter assumed  ?" 

'*  It  was  at  the  suggestion  of  Mad.  de  la  Tour,  I 
believe,  and  Lucie's  love  of  frolic  induced  her  rea- 
dily to  adopt  it.  You  know  the  fort  was  seriously 
threatened  before  our  return  ;  and  Mad.  do  la  Tour, 
who  had  few  around  her  in  whom  she  could  con- 
fide, found  her  little  page  extremely  useful,  in  exe- 
cuting divers  commissions,  which,  in  her  feminine 
attire,  could  not  have  been  achieved  with  equal 
propriety." 

"  1  do  not  think  a  fondness  for  disguise  is  natu- 
ral to  her,"  said  Stanhope  ;  "  though  she  j-eems  to 
have  suppckted  her  borrowed  character  with  consi- 
derable address." 

*'  Yes,  she  completely  deceived  mc.  at  first ;  and 


^ 


« 


tLi-mi 


IIIVILS  OF  ACADIA. 


86 


re"  returned 
(I  the  truth  of 
not  withstand  * 
sence." 
uld  bear  that 
wished  to  po- 
pe;  "  and  one 
\\o  can  remain 
krhims  and  dis- 

L  and  innocent 
ly  renders  her 
,,  speaking  oi 
las  she  played 
e  was  the  cha- 

de  la  Tour,  1 
uced  her  rea- 
was  seriously 
|ad.  dclaTour, 
he  could  con- 
useful,  in  exe- 
her  feminine 
id  with  equal 

Isguisc  is  natu- 
she  ir'eems  to 
Lev  with  consi- 

N  at  first ;  ainl 


tiiis  evening,  I  again  lost  the  use  of  my  senses,  and 
mistook  her  for  the  sauciest  knave  of  a  priest,  that 
ever  muttered  an  ave-marie." 

"  Long  as  it  is,  since  I  have  seen  her,"  said  Stan- 
hope, "  I  think  I  could  have  sworn  to  that  face  and 
voice,  under  any  disguise." 

''  You  obtained  a  full  view  of  her  features,  at 
once,"  said  De  Valette ;  "  when  I  first  met  her, 
they  were  carefully  shaded  by  a  tartan  bonnet,  and 
she  entirely  altered  the  tones  of  her  voice ;  and 
this  evening,  again,  she  would  scarcely  have  been 
recognized  in  the  imperfect  light,  had  she  not  suf- 
fered her  vexation  to  betray  her.  But  the  night 
wanes,  and  it  is  time  for  us  to  separate  ;  I  must  go 
abroad,  and  see  that  all  things  are  quiet  and  in  or- 
der, after  this  unusual  revelling." 

De  Valette  then  quitted  the  house,  and  Stanhope 
gladly  sought  the  solitude  of  his  own  apartment, 
where  he  could  reflect,  at  leisure,  on  the  agitating 
events  of  the  few  last  hours.     He  walked  to  and 
fro,  with  rapid  steps,  till,  exhausted  by  his  excite- 
ment, he  threw  himself  beside  an  open  window, 
and   endeavoured  to  collect  the   confused  ideas, 
which  crowded  on  his  mind  and  memory.    The 
noise   of  mirth  and  music  had  long  since  passed 
away,  and  the  weary  guard,  who  walked  his  dull 
round  of  duty  in  solitude  and  silence,  was  the  only 
living  object  which  met  his  eye.     No  sound  was 
abroad,  but  the  voice  of  the  restless  stream,  which 
;ilittored   beneath  the  rising  moon  ; — the  breath  of 

8 


86 


UIVALS  OF  ACADIA. 


1  -1 
^  llfl 


} 


midnight  fanned  him  with  its  refreshing  coohiess, 
and  the  calm  beauty  of  that  lonely  hour  gradually 
soothed  his  restless  spirits. 

He  had  encountered  the  object  of  a  fond  and 
cherished  attachmert,  but  under  circumstances  of 
perplexity  and  4oubt,  which  marred  the  pleasure 
of  that  unexpected  meeting.  More  than  two  years 
had  elapsed  si^ice  he  first  saw  Luci^  de  Courcy, 
then  residing  ui  the  north  of  England,  whither  she 
had  accompanied  a  maternal  aunt,  the  widow  of  an 
Englishman  of  rank  and  fortune.  Madame  Ross- 
ville,  who  was  in  a  declining  state  of  health,  had 
yielded  to  the  importunity  of  her  husband's  con- 
nexions, and  left  her  native  land  for  the  summer 
months,  hoping  to  receive  benefit  from  change  of 
scene  and  climate.  She  had  no  children,  and 
Luci^,  whom  she  adopted  in  infancy,  was  dear  to 
her,  as  a  daughter  could  have  been.  They  resided 
at  a  short  distance  from  the  elder  Mr.  Stanhope  ; 
and  the  strict  Hugonot  principles  of  the  French 
invalid  interested  the  rigid  puritan,  and  led  to  a 
friendly  intimacy  between  the  families. 

\rthur  Stanhope  had  then  just  retired  from  his 
profession,  and  the  chagrin  and  disappointment, 
which  at  first  depressed  his  spirits,  gradually  yielded 
to  the  chorm  whirli  led  him  daily  to  the  Ijousc  of 
Mad.  Rossville.  Constant  intercourse  and  familiar 
acquaintance  strengthened  the  influence,  whicli 
Lucia's  sweetness  and  vivacity  had  created,  and  he 
soon  ioved  her  with  the  fervor  and  purity  of  n  youn;i 


* 


BIVAL8  or   kCknik, 


%t 


and  unsophisticated  heart.  Yet  he  loved  in  silence, 
— for  his  future  plans  were  frustrated,  his  ambitious 
hopes  were  blighted  ;  a  writ  of  banishment  and  pro- 
scription hung  over  his  father's  house,  and  what 
had  he  to  offer  to  one  endowed  by  nature  and  for- 
tune with  gifts,  which  ranked  her  with  the  proudest 
and  noblest  in  the  land  !  But  love  needs  not  the 
aid  of  words  ;  and  the  sentiments  of  the  heart, 
beaming  in  an  ingenuous  countenance,  are  more 
forcible  than  any  language  which  the  lips  can  utter. 
Luci^  was  too  artless  to  disguise  the  feelings  which 
«he  was,  ap  yet,  scarce  conscious  of  cherishing ; 
but  Arthur  read  in  the  smile  and  blush  which  ever 
welcomed  his  approach,  the  sigh  which  seemed  to 
regret  his  departure,  and  the  eloquent  expression  of 
an  eye,  which  varied  with  every  emotion  of  her 
soul,  a  tale  of  tenderness  as  ardent  and  confiding 
as  his  own.  The  future  was  unheeded  in  the  dream 
of  present  enjoyment ;  for  who,  that  loves,  can 
doubt  of  happiness,  or  bear  to  look  forward  to  the 
melancholy  train  of  dark  and  disappointed  hours 
which  time  may  unfold  ! 

In  the  midst  of  these  dawning  hopes,  Arthur 
Stanhope  was  called  to  a  distant  part  of  the  king- 
dom on  business,  which  nearly  concerned  his 
father's  private  interest.  Luci^  wept  at  his  depart- 
ure ;  and,  for  the  first  time,  his  brow  was  clouded 
in  her  presence,  and  his  heart  chilled  by  the  bodings 
of  approaching  evil.  Several  weeks  passed  away, 
and  he  was  still  detained  from  home  ;  to  add  to  his 


■•^, 


-JfmCst^ 


/ 


88 


KIVALS   OV  ACADIA. 


uneasiness,  no  tidings  from  thence  had  reached 
him,  since  the  early  period  of  his  absence.  Public 
rumor,  indeed,  told  him  that  new  persecutions  had 
gone  forth  against  the  puritans  ;  and  the  inflexible 
temper  of  his  father,  who  had  long  been  peculiarly 
obnoxious  to  the  church  party,  excited  the  utmost 
anxiety,  and  determined  him,  at  alPevents,  to  hasten 
his  return. 

After  travelling  nearly  through  the  night,  Arthur 
ascended  one  of  the  loftiest  hills  in  Northumberland, 
just  as  the  sun  was  shedding  his  earlif^st  radiance 
on  a  beautiful  valley,  which  lay  before  him.  It 
was  his  native  valley,  and  the  mansion  of  his 
father's  looked  cheerful  amidst  the  group  of  vene- 
rable trees  which  surrounded  it.  Time,  since  he 
last  quitted  it,  had  seared  the  freshness  of  their 
foliage,  and  the  golden  tintfi!  of  autumn  had  succeed- 
ed the  verdure  of  summer,  A  little  farther  on,  the 
house  of  Mad.  Rossvillc  was  just  discernible  ;  and 
Arthur's  heart  bcunde<l  with  transport,  as  he 
thought  how  soon  he  should  again  embrace  those 
whom  he  most  loved  on  earth  !  But  a  different  fate 
awaited  him,  and  tidings,  which  withered  every 
hope  he  had  so  long  and  fondly  cherished.  The 
ecclesiastical  tyranny,  which  had  exiled  so  many  of 
the  non-conformists  from  their  friends  and  country, 
was,  at  last,  extended  to  the  elder  Mr.  Stanhope. 
[lis  estates  were  confiscated,  and  a  warrant  was 
issued  for  his  imprisonment  ;  but,  with  extreme 
difficulty,  he  succeeded  in  efl'ecting  an  escape  to 
the  sea-coast.     He  was  there  joined  by  his  wife  ; 


I  ')■-■ 


BITAI.8  OF  A.C1DIA. 


69 


and,  through  the  kind  assistance  of  friends,  they* 
collected  the  remains  of  a  once  ample  fortune,  and 
only  waited  the  arrival  of  their  son,  to  quit  their 
country  forever,  and  embark  for  New-England. 

There  was  yet  another  blow,  for  which  Arthur 
was  wholly  unprepared.  Mad.  Rossville,  whose 
health  rapidly  failed  on  the  approach  of  cooler 
weather,  hu'  died  a  short  tinr.3  previous  to  his 
return,  leaving  her  orphan  niece  under  the  protec- 
tion of  her  on'.y  sister,  who  hastened  to  England 
on  hearing  of  liier  danger,  and  arrived  but  a  few 
hours  before  her  decease.  Her  late  cheerful  abode 
was  deserted  ;  and  Arthur  could  obtain  no  inform* 
ution  respecting  Lucie,  except  that  dhe  had  gone 
hack  to  France  with  her  relative,  immediately  after 
the  melancholy  event. 

"Gone,  without  one  kind  farewell,  one  word  of 
remembrance !"  was  the  first  bitter  reBection  of 
Arthur,  on  receiving  this  intelligence.  "  She,  who 
might  have  been  all  the  world  to  him,  whose  sunny 
smile  could  have  cheered  the  darkest  hour  of 
afflic  01), — she  was  gone  !  and,  amidst  the  attrac- 
tions of  wealth,  and  the  charms  of  society  and 
friends,  how  soon  might  he  fade  from  her  remem- 
))rance !" 

But  that  was  not  a  time  to  indulge  the  regrets  of 
a  romantic  passion ;  the  situation  of  his  parent! 
required  the  support  and  consolations  of  filial  ten- 
derness ;  and  no  selfish  indulgence  could,  for  a 
moment,  detain  him  from  them.     He  hastily  aban- 

8* 


\ 


> 


90 


RIVALS   07   ACADIA. 


doned  th  i  home  of  his  childhood — the  scenes  oJ 
;.mturei  happiness ;  and,  re-passing  the  barrier  of 
his  native  hills,  in  a  few  days  rejoined  his  pa.cnts 
at  the  sea-port,  where  they  waited  his  arrival. 
They  had  made  arrangements  to  take  passage  in 
the  first  vessel  which  sailed  for  Boston,  and  Arthur 
did  not  hesitate  a  moment  to  attend  them  in  their 
arduous  undertaking.  For  a  time,  indeed,  his  ac- 
tive spirit  bent  beneath  the  pressure  of  disappoint- 
ment, and  all  places  were  alike  inditferent  to  him. 
But  the  excitement  of  new  scenes  and  pursuits  at 
length  roused  his  interest,  and  incited  him  to  men- 
tal exertion.  With  the  return  of  spring  also,  hopes, 
which  he  believed  forever  crushed,  began  to  regain 
their  influence  in  his  mind.  He  was  about  to 
revisit  England,  on  some  affairs  of  consequence ; 
and  he  resolved  to  improve  the  opportunity  to 
satisfy  his  anxiety  respecting  Luci^,  and  learn,  if 
possible,  what  he  had  still  left  to  hope  or  fear. 
But  an  alarming  illness,  which  attacked  his  molhei ,, 
and  left  her  long  in  a  dangerous  state,  obliged  him 
to  defer  his  design  ;  and  another  winter  passed 
away,  and  various  circumstances  still  rendered  the 
voyage  impracticable.  Time  r  -^'<ually  softened, 
but  it  could  not  destroy,  the  i^v.-  ssion  of  his  ill- 
Cated  attachment ;  and,  though  the  image  of  Lucie 
was  still  cherished  in  his  remembrance,  he  began 
to  regard  the  days  of  their  happy  intercourse  as  a 
pleasant  dream  which  had  passed  away, — a  delight- 
ful vision  of  the  fancy,  which  he  loved  to  contem^ 
plate,  but  could  nevsr  hope  to  realize. 


\ 


r>^fiemii*'^Jt 


T»?YiJL8   0¥   ACADIA. 


91 


It  was,  indcedy  with  emotions  tot*  powerful  for 
vlisguise,  that  he  found  himself  li^'-uin,  and  so  unex- 
pectedly, in  the  presence  of  his  beloved  Lucie.  He 
was  ignorant  of  the  name,  even,  of  the  relative  to 
whom  Mad.  Rossville  had  entrusted  her, — he  had 
not  the  most  distant  idea,  that  she  was  connected 
with  the  lady  of  La  Tour ;  and,  in  approaching  the 
fort  of  St.  John's,  he  little  thought,  that  he  was  so 
near  the  goal  of  his  wishes.  But  the  first  joyful 
sensations  were  not  unmingled  with  doubt  and 
alarm.  lie  found  her  lovely  and  attractive,  as  when 
he  had  last  seen  her ;  but,  since  that  time,  what 
changes  had  taken  place,  and  how  might  her  heart 
have  altered  !  De  Valette,  young,  handsome,  and 
agreeable,  confessed  himself  her  lover ;  he  was  the 
favorite  of  her  guardians,  and  what  influence  had 
he,  or  might  he  not  obtain,  over  her  affections  ! 

Such  refiections  of  mingled  pain  and  pleasure 
occupied  the  mind  of  Stanhope,  and  alternate  hopes 
iind  fears  beguiled  the  midnight  hour,  and  banish- 
ed every  idea  of  repose. 


|i 


i 


ii 


SIYALa    OF    ACADIA. 


OHAVTB&  VZU. 


I  pray  you  have  the  ditty  o'er  agnin  t 
Of  all  the  strains  that  mewing  minstrels  sing, 
The  Inverts  one  for  me.     I  could  expire 
To  hear  a  man,  with  bristles  on  his  chin, 
Sing  soft,  with  upturn'd  ey«"s,  and  arched  browj, 
Which  tnlV.  of  trickling  tears  that  never  fall. 
Lot's  have  it  o'er  again. 

J.  S.  Knowl.k». 


/( 


The  meditations  of  Stanhope  were  suddenly  in- 
terrupted by  the  loud  barking  of  a  dog,  which  lay 
in  his  kennel  below  the  window  ;  and  it  was  pre- 
sently aRswered  by  a  low,  protracted  whistle,  thai 
instantly  quelled  the  vigilant  animal's  irritation. 
Arthur  mcf^hanically  raised  his  iiead,  to  ascertain 
who  was  intruding  on  the  silence  of  that  lonely 
liour.  and  saw  a  ligurc  approaching,  with  quick, 
light,  footsteps,  which  a  glance  assured  him  was 
M.  de  Valette  He  was  already  near  the  building, 
and  soon  stopped  beneath  a  window  in  a  projecting 
angle,  which  he  appeared  to  examine  with  great 
attention.  Arthur  felt  a  painful  suspicion  that  this 
casement  oelonged  to  Lucie's  apartment,  and,  as  il 
was  neg/ly  opposite  his  own,  he  drew  back,  to  avoid 


I 


IIIVALS   OF    ACADIA. 


93 


Knotvlks, 


bt'iii<5  observed,  though  he  watched,  with  intense 
interest,  the  motions  of  De  Valette.  The  young 
Frenchman  applied  a  flute  to  his  lips,  and  played 
a  (gw  notes  of  a  lively  air, — then,  suddenly  break- 
ing off,  he  changed  the  measure  into  one  so  soft 
and  plaintive,  that  the  sounds  seemed  to  float,  like 
iurial  harjiiony,  upon  the  stillness  of  the  night.  He 
paused,  and  looked  earnestly  toward  the  window  : 
the  moon  shone  brightly  against  it,  but  all  was 
quiet  within,  and  around,  while  he  sang,  in  a  clear 
and  manly  voice,  the  following  serenade  : 

Awake,  my  love  !  the  moon  on  high 
Shines  in  the  deep  bUie,  arched  sky, 
Anil  tlirough  the  chist'ring  woodhine  peeps. 
To  seek  the  couch  where  Lucie  sleeps. 

Awake,  my  love  !  for  see,  afar, 
Shincij,  solY  and  bright,  the  evening  star  ; 
But  oh  !  its  brighteat  beams  must  die, 
Beneath  the  light  of  Lucie's  eye. 

Awake,  my  love  !  dost  thou  not  hear 
The  night-bird's  enrol,  wild  and  clear  'f 
But  not  its  sweetest  notes  detain 
When  Lucie  breathes  her  sweeter  strain. 


Awake,  my  love  !  the  fragrant  gale 
Steals  odours  from  yon  spicy  vale  ; 
But  can  the  richly  perfiim'd  air 
With  Lucie's  balmy  breath  compare  r 


04 


RITALS   OF   ACADIA. 


t 


¥. 


H 


II 


Awake,  my  love !  for  all  around, 
With  beauty,  pleasure,  hope,  is  crovvnM 
But  hope  nor  pleasure  dawn  on  me, 
Till  Lucio's  graceful  form  I  see. 

Awake,  my  love  !  for  in  thy  bower. 
Thy  lover  spends  the  lonely  honr  ; — 
She  hears  me  ! — from  the  lattice  screen 
Behold  my  Lucie  gently  lean ! 

The  window  had,  indeed,  slowly  opened,  toward> 
the  conclusion  of  the  song,  and  Arthur  observed 
some  one, — Lucie,  he  doubted  not,— standing  be- 
fore it,  partially  concealed  by  the  folds  of  a  curtain. 

"  Sung  like  a  troubadour !"  exclaimed  a  voice, 
which  he  could  not  mistake ;  "  but,  prithee,  my 
tuneful  knight,  were  those  concluding  lines  extem- 
pore, or  had  you  really  the  vanity  to  anticipate  the 
effect  of  your  musical  incantation  ?" 

"  And  who  but  yourself,  Luci^,  would  doubt  that 
charms  like  yours  could  give  inspiration  to  even 
the  dullest  muse  ?" 

"  Very  fine,  truly ;  but  I  will  wager  my  life,  Eus- 
tace that  mine  are  not  the  only  ears,  which  have 
been  charmed  with  this  melodious  ditty,— -that  I  am 
not  the  first  damsel  who  has  reigned,  the  goddess  ot 
an  hour,  in  this  same  serenade  !  Confess  the  trutii, 
my  good  friend,  and  I  will  give  thee  absolution  !" 

"  And  to  whom  but  you,  my  sweet  Lucie,  could 
I  address  such  language  f    you,  who  have  so  lon^^ 


"#*^.- 


BIVALS   OF   ACADIA. 


95 


iiM 


lened,  toward> 
fthur  observed 
-standing  be- 
ds of  a  curtain, 
imed  a  voice, 
t,  prithee,  my 
ig  lines  extem- 
►  anticipate  the 

3uld  doubt  that 
iration  to  even 


ruigncd  sole  mistress  of  every  thought  and  hope  of 
my  heart !" 

"  Sole  mistress  in  the  wilderness,  no  doubt !" 
said  the  laughing  girl ;  "  where  there  is  no  other  to 
be  found,  except  a  tawny  damsel  or  two,  who  would 
scarcely  understand  your  poetic  flights !  but  you 
have  just  returned  from  a  brighter  clime,  and  the 
dark-eyed  demoiselles  of  merry  France,  perchancq, 
might  thank  you  for  such  a  tribute  to  their  charms !" 
"  And  do  you  think  so  meanly  of  me,  Lucie,'' 
asked  De  Valette,  reproachfully,  "  as  to  believe  me 
capable  of  playing  the  flatterer,  wherever  I  go,  and 
paying  court  to  every  pretty  face,  that  claims  my 
admiration?" 

"  Nay,  I  think  so  well  of  you,  Eustace ;  I  have 
such  an  exalted  opinion  of  your  gallantry,  that  I 
cannot  believe  you  would  remain  three  months  in 
the  very  land  of  glorious  chivalry,  and  prove  dis- 
loyal to  the  cause  !  Be  candid,  now,  and  tell  me,  if 
tijis  nonpareil  morceau  has  not  serve<l  you  for  a 
passport  to  the  favor  of  t!ie  pretty  villagers,  as  you 
journeyed  through  the  country  ?" 
"  I  protest,  Lucie,  you  are" — 
"  No  protestations,"  interrupted  Lucie,  "  I  have 
not  the  '  faith  of  a  grain  of  mustard  seed,'  in  them ; 
— but,  in  honest  truth,  Eustace,  your  muse  has  been 
wandering  among  the  orange  groves  of  France  ; 
she  could  never  have  gathered  so  much  fragrance, 
and  brightness,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  from  tlie 
pines  and  firs  of  this  poor  sjiot  of  earth  !" 


% 


Vi} 


i 


\ 


06 


niVALS   OF   ACADIA. 


.t 


I 


"  Aiul  if  she  has  culled  the  sweets  of  a  inildci 
region,"  said  Do  Valcttc,  "  it  is  only  to  form  a  gar- 
land for  one,  who  is  worthy  of  the  fairest  flowers 
that  blossom  in  the  gardens  of  paradise." 

"Very  well,  and  quite  poetic,  monsieur;  youv 
Pegasus  is  in  an  ambling  mood  to-night;  but  have 
a  care  that  he  do  not  throw  you,  as  he  did,  of  old, 
the  audacious  mortal  who  attempted  to  soar  too 
high.  And  I  pray  you  will  have  more  regard  to 
the  truth,  in  future,  and  not  scandalize  the  evening 
star,  by  bringing  it  into  your  performance  so  out  of 
season  ;  it  may  have  shone  upon  the  vineyards  of 
Provence,  but  it  is  long  since  it  glittered  in  our 
northern  hemisphere." 

"  Have  you  done,  my  gentle  mentor  ?"  asked  Dc 
Valcttc,  in  an  accent  of  vexation. 

"  Not  quite  ;  I  wish  to  know  whether  you,  or  tho 
melodious  scrccch-owl,  represent  the  tuneful  bird 
of  night,  alluded  to  in  the  aforesaid  stanzas?  I 
have  heard  no  other  who  could  pour  forth  such  ex- 
quisite notes,  since  my  destiny  brought  me  hither." 

"  And  it  will  bo  long  ere  you  hear  me  again," 
said  Dc  Valette,  angrily  "I  shall  be  careful  not 
to  excite  your  mirthful  humor  again,  at  my  own 
expense !" 

"  Now  you  are  not  angry  with  mo,  I  hope,  Eu 
stace,"  she  said,  with  aftccted  concern  ;  "  you  well 
know,  that  I  admire  your  music  exceedingly  ;  nay. 
I  think  it  unrivalled,  even  by  the  choice  psalmody 
of  our  worthy  chaplain  ;  and  as  to  the  poetry,  1 


niVALS   OV  ACADIl. 


97 


doubt  if  any  has  yet  equalled  it,  in  this  our  ancient 
settlement  of  St.  John's." 

"  Farewell,  Lucie,"  said  De  Valette ;  *•  when  I 
waken  you  again"— 

"  Oil,  you  did  not  waken  me,"  interrupted  Lucie, 
I  will  spare  your  conscience  that  reproach  ;  had  I 
gone  to  rest,  I  should  scarcely  have  risen,  even  had 
a  band  of  fairies  tuned  their  tiny  instruments  in 
the  moonlight,  beneath  my  window.  But,  go  now, 
Eustace, — yet  stay,  and  tell  me  first,  if  we  part  in 
charity  ?" 

"  Yes,  it  must  be  so,  I  suppose  ;  I  was  vexed 
with  you,  Lucie,  but  you  well  know  that  your  smiles 
are  always  irresistible." 

"  Well,  you  will  allow  that  I  have  been  very 
lavish  of  my  smiles  to-night,  Eustace;  so  leave  me 
now,  lest  I  begin  to  frown,  by  way  of  variety. 
Adieu !" 

She  immediately  closed  the  window,  and  De  Va- 
lette turned  away,  playing  carelessly  on  his  flute  as 
he  retired. 

"  Thank  heaven  I  he  is  gone ;"  was  the  mental 
exclamation  of  Stanhope,  whose  impatience  and 
curiosity  were  painfully  exercised  by  this  protract- 
ed conversation ;  for  he  had  retreated  from  the  win- 
dow, at  its  commencement,  to  avoid  the  possibility 
of  hearing,  what  was  not  probably  intended  to  reach 
the  ears  of  a  third  person.  "  Would  any  but  a  fa- 
vored lover,"  he  thought,  "  be  admitted  to  such  an 
interview  ?"    The  idea  w»8  insupportable  ;  he  tra- 

9 


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Sciences 
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BIVALS  or   ACADIA. 


versed  his  apartment  with  perturbed  and  hasty  steps, 
and  it  was  not  till  long  after  De  Valctte  retired, 
that  he  sought  the  repose  of  his  pillow,  and  even 
then,  in  a  state  of  mind  which  completely  banished 
slumber  from  his  eyes. 

When  Stanhope  looked  out,  on  the  following 
morning,  he  saw  Lucie,  alone  in  a  small  garden, 
adjoining  the  house,  busily  employed  in  training 
some  flowers ;  and  the  painful  impression  of  tlic 
last  night  was  almost  forgotten,  in  the  impulse 
which  he  felt  to  join  her.  He  was  chagrined  to 
meet  De  Valette,  as  he  crossed  a  passage,  but  re- 
pressing a  repugnance,  which  he  felt  might  be  un- 
justly excited,  he  addressed  him  with  his  usual  cor- 
diality, and  they  entered  the  garden  together.  Lu- 
cie's face  was  turned  from  them,  and  she  did  not 
seem  aware  of  their  approach,  till  startled  by  the 
voice  of  De  Valette. 

"  You  do  not  seem  very  industriously  inclined," 
he  said  ;  "  or  are  you  resting,  to  indulge  the  luxury 
of  a  morning  reverie  f" 

"  I  was  in  a  most  profound  reverie,"  she  replied, 
turning  quickly  round ;  "  and  you  have  destroyed 
as  fair  a  vision,  as  ever  dawned  on  the  waking 
fancy." 

"  Was  your  vision  of  the  past  or  future  .'^"  asked 
De  Valette. 

*'  Only  of  the  past ;  I  care  not  for  the  future, 
which  is  too  uncertain  to  be  trusted,  and  which 


^S>WH.^   '    ' 


BIVALS   OE   ACADIA. 


may  have  nothing  but  misfortunes  in  reserve  for 
me." 

"  You  are  in  a  pensive  mood,  just  now,"  said 
De  Valette  ;  "  when  I  last  saw  you,  I  could  scarce 
have  believed  a  cloud  would  ever  cross  the  sunshine 
of  your  face." 

"  Experience  might  have  rendered  you  more  dis- 
cerning," she  answered,  with  a  smile  ;  "  but  you, 
who  love  variety  so  well,  should  not  complain  of 
the  changes  of  my  mood." 

"  Change,  as  often  as  you  will,"  said  De  Va- 
lette ;  "  and,  in  every  variation,  you  cannot  fail  to 
please." 

"  And  you,"  said  Lucie,  "  cannot  fail  of  seeming 
very  foolish,  till  you  leave  off  this  annoying  habit 
of  turning  every  word  into  a  compliment ; — nay, 
do  not  look  displeased,"  she  added,  gaily  ;  "  yoa 
know  that  you  deserve  reproof,  occasionally,  and 
there  is  no  one  who  will  administer  it  to  you,  but 
myself." 

"  But  what  you  define  a  compliment,"  said  Stan- 
hope, "  would  probably  appear,  to  any  other  per- 
son, the  simple  language  of  sincerity." 

"  I  cannot  contend  against  two  opponents,"  re- 
turned Lucie  ;  ""  so  I  may  as  well  give  up  my  ar- 
gument, though  I  still  maintain  its  validity." 

"  We  will  call  it  a  drawn  game,  then,"  said  De 
Valette,  laughing  ;  "  so  now,  Lucie,  candidly  con- 
fess that  you  were  disposed  to  find  fault  with  me, 
without  suflf^^cient  cause." 


100 


RIVALS    OF   ACADIA. 


i' 


"  There  is  certainly  no  flattery  in  this,"  replied 
Lucie  ;  "  but  I  will  confess  nothing, — except  that 
f  danced  away  my  spirits  last  evening,  and  was 
most  melodiously  disturbed  afterwards,  by  some 
strolling  minstrel.  Were  you  not  annoyed  by  un- 
seasonable music,  Mr.  Stanhope  .^" 

"  I  beard  music,  at  a  late  hour,"  he  replied  ;  "  but 
it  did  not  disturb  me,  as  I  was  still  awake." 

As  he  spoke,  he  was  vexed  to  feel  the  color 
mount  to  his  very  temples ;  and  Lucie,  who  in- 
stantly comprehended  the  cause  of  his  confusion, 
bent  her  eyes  to  the  ground,  while  her  cheeks  were 
suffused  with  blushes.  An  embarrasing  pause  en- 
sued ;  and  De  Valette,  displeased  at  the  secret 
sympathy  which  their  looks  betrayed,  stooped  to 
pluck  a  rose,  that  grew  on  a  small  bush  beside  him. 

"  What  have  you  done,  Eustace  f"  asked  Lucie, 
hastily,  and  glad  to  break  the  awkward  silence ; 
''  you  have  spoiled  my  favorite  rose-bush,  which  I 
would  not  have  given  for  all  the  flowers  of  the  gar- 
den." 

"  It  is  a  poor  little  thing,"  said  De  Valette,  turn- 
ing it  carelessly  in  his  hand  ;  "  I  could  gather  you 
a  dozen  far  more  beautiful,  and  quite  as  fragrant." 

"  Not  one  that  I  value  half  as  much,"  she  an- 
swered, taking  it  from  him,  and  breathing  on  the 
crushed  leaves,  to  restore  their  freshness  ;  "  I  have 
reared  it  with  much  care,  from  a  stock  which  1 
brought  from  Northumberland  ;  and  it  has  now 
blossomed  for  the  first  time — a  memento  of  many 
happy  days.'' 


•tS^*^i|j^ 


BITALS   OV  ACADIA. 


XOI 


replied 
ept  that 
and  was 
jy  some 
d  by  un- 

id ;  "  but 

the  color 
who  in- 
ionfusion, 
jeks  were 
pause  en- 
ho  secret 
tooped  to 
3side  him. 
;ed  Lucie, 
silence ; 
which  I 
f  the  gar- 

;tte,  turn- 
ather  you 
fragrant." 
,"  she  an- 
ng  on  the 
'  I  have 
.  which  1 
has  now 
of  many 


Her  words  were  addressed  to  Stanhope,  and  he 
was  receiving  the  rose  from  her  hand,  when  her 
countenance  suddenly  changed,  and,  closing  her- 
eyes,  as  if  to  exclude  some  unwelcome  object,  she 
clung  to  his  offered  arm  for  support.  He  was  too 
much  absorbed  by  her,  to  seek  the  cause  of  her 
alarm ;  but  De  Valette  observed  father  Gilbert, 
standing  at  a  little  distance,  his  eyes  intently  fixed 
on  Lucie,  while  his  features  betrayed  the  conflict 
of  powerful  emotions. 

"Why  are  you  thus  agitated,  Lucie?"  asked 
De  Valette,  in  surprise;  "  surely  you  recognize  the 
priest ;  you  do  not  fear  him  ?" 

"  He  makes  me  fear  him,  Eustace ;  he  always 
looks  at  me  so  fixedly,  so  wildly,  that  I  cannot — 
dare  not  meet  his  gaze."  '  . 

"This  is  mere  fancy,  Lucie,"  he  answered,  light- 
ly ;  "  is  it  strange  that  even  the  holy  father  should 
gaze  on  you  with  earnestness  ?" 

"  It  is  no  time  to  jest,  Eustace,"  she  answered^ 
with  a  trembling  voice  ;  "  speak  to  him, — he  is 
coming  hither,— I  will  not  stay." 

While  she  spoke,  the  priest  drew  near  her, — 
paused  a  moment, — and,  murmuring  a  few  words 
in  a  low  voice,  turned  again,  and,  with  a  thotightflil 
and  abstracted  air,  walked  slowly  from  them.  I>e 
Valette  followed  him  ;  and  Luci^,  glad  to  escapCj 
;returned,  with  Stanhope,  to  the  house. 

9* 


\ 


:^u 


^ 


t02 


SIVAU  01  ACADIA. 


OBAVTER    XZ. 


■  *( 


'I* 


) 


Untaught  in  youth  my  heart  to  tame, 
My  springs  ef  life  were  poisoned.    'Tis  too  late  I 
Yet  1  am  chaiig'd  ;  though  still  enough  the  same 
In  strength,  to  bear  what  time  cannot  abate, 
And  feed  on  bitter  fruits,  without  accusing  fate. 

Lord  Byrox. 


Father  Gilbert  stopped  a  few  paces  from  the 
spot  which  Lucie  had  just  quitted,  and,  leaning 
against  a  tree,  appeared  so  entirely  absorbed  by  his 
own  reflections,  that  DjeValette  for  some  moments 
hesitated  to  address  him.  The  rapid  mutations  of 
his  countenance  still  betrayed  a  powerful  mental 
struggle ;  and  De  Valette  felt  his  curiosity  and  in- 
terest strongly  awakened,  by  the  sudden  and  un- 
controllable excitement  of  one,  whose  usually  cold 
and  abstracted  air,  shewed  little  sympathy  with  the 
concerns  of  humanity.  Gradually,  however,  his 
features  resumed  their  av'.c^ustomed  calmness ;  but. 
on  raising  his  eyes,  and  meeting  the  inquiring  gaze 
of  De  Valette,  he  drooped  his  head,  as  if  ashamed 
to  have  betrayed  emotions,  so  inconsistent  with  the 
vow  which  professed  to  raise  him  above  the  influ- 
ence of  all  worldly  passions. 

"I  fear  you  are  ill,  father,"  said  De  Valette,  ap- 


ISfeww.-.. 


BIVALS   OF  ACADIA. 


103 


pioaching  him  with  kindness  ;  "  can  I  do  any  thing 
to  assist  or  relieve  you  ?" 

"  I  ivas  ill,  my  son,"  he  replied ;  *'  but  it  is  over 
now — passed  away  like  a  troubled  phantasy,  vvhicii 
visits  the  weary  and  restless  slumberer,  and  flics 
at  the  approach  of  returning  reason." 

"  Your  language  is  figurative,"  returned  De  Va- 
lette,  "  and  implies  the  sufferance  of  mental,  rather 
than  bodily  pain.  If  such  is  your  unhappy  state, 
J  know  full  well  that  human  skill  is  unavailing." 

"  What  know  you  of  pain  ?"  asked  the  priest,  with 
startling  energy  ;  "  you,  who  bask  in  the  sunshine 
of  fortune's  smile, — whose  days  are  one  ceaseless 
round  of  careless  gaiety, — whose  repose  is  yet  un- 
broken by  the  gnawing  worm  of  never-dying  repent- 
ance !  Such,  too,  I  was,  in  the  spring-time  of  my 
life ;  I  drained  the  cup  of  pleasure, — but  misery 
and  disappointment  were  in  its  dregs  ;  I  yielded  to 
the  follies  and  passions  of  my  youthful  heart, — and 
the  sting  of  remorse  and  ceaseless  regret  have  en- 
tered my  inmost  soul !" 

"  Pardon  me,  father,"  said  De  Valette,  "  if  I  have 
unconsciously  awakened  thoughts  which  time,  per- 
chance, had  well  nigh  soothed  into  forgetfulness  !" 

"  Awakened  thoughts  !"  the  priest  repeated,  in  a 
melancholy  voice  ;  "  they  can  never,  never  sleep ! 
repentance  cannot  obliterate  them^ — years  of  pe- 
nance— fastings,  and  vigils,  and  wanderings,  can- 
not wear  them  from  my  remembrance  !  Look  at 
iYic,  my  son,  and  may  this  decaying  frame,  which 


\    '\ 


104 


RIVALS   01*  ACADIA. 


if, 


i^ 


•Hi 


i      ! 


Ii 

1 1 

1 

ii 

I 


lime  might  yet  have  spared,  teach  thee  tine  vanity 
of  human  hopes,  and  lead  thee  to  resist  the  im- 
pulses of  passion,  and  to  mistrust  and  regulate, 
even  the  virtuous  inclinations  of  thy  heart!" 

"  Your  words  will  be  long  remembered,  father  !" 
said  Dc  Valette,  touched  by  the  sorrow  of  the  vene- 
rable man  ;  "  and  may  the  good  saints  restore  peace 
and  hope  to  your  wounded  spirit !" 

"  And  may  heaven  bless  you,  my  son,  and  pre- 
serve you  from  those  fatal  errors  which  have  wreck- 
ed my  peace,  and  withered  the  fairest  hopes  thai 
ever  blossomed  on  the  tree  of  earthly  happiness ! 
(io  now,"  he  added,  in  a  firmer  tone,  "forget  this 
interview,  if  possible,  and  when  we  meet  again, 
think  not  of  what  you  have  now  heard  and  witness- 
ed, but  see  in  me  only  the  humble  missionary  of 
the  church,  who,  till  this  day" —  his  voice  again 
trembled,  "  till  she  crossed  my  path" — 

"  She  .'"  interrupted  De  Valette  ;  "  do  you  mean 
Mademoiselle  de  Courcy  ?" 

"  De  Courcy  !"  repeated  the  priest,  grasping  the 
arm  of  Eustaco,  while  the  paleness  of  death  over- 
spread iiis  features  ;  "  who  bears  that  most  unhap- 
py name  ?" 

'•  The  niece  of  Mad.  de  ia  Tour,"  returned  Dc 
Valette :  "  and,  however  unfortunate  the  name,  it 
Jius,  as  yet,  entailed  no  evil  on  it«i  present  posses- 


sor. 


?> 


"  Was  it  she,  whom  I  just  now  saw  with  you .'"' 
<isked  the  priest,  with  increasing  agitation. 


few,,,,        V 


RIVALS   OF   ACADIA. 


105 


e  name,  it 


"  It  was  ;  and  pardon  nie,  father,  your  vclicmcnce 
lias  already  greatly  alarniud  her." 

"I  meant  't  not,"  he  repl'ad;  "but  I  will  not 
meet  her  again — no,  I  dare  not  look  again  upon 
that  face.  Has  she  parents,  young  man  f"  he  con- 
tinued, after  a  brief  pause. 

"  She  has  been  an  orphan  from  infancy,"  replied 
I)c  Valctte ;  "  and  Mad.  dc  la  Tour  is  almost  the 
only  relative  whom  she  claims  on  earth." 

"  She  is  a  protestant?"  said  father  Gilbert,  inqui- 
ringly. 

"  She  is,"  said  De  Valette  ;  "  though  her  parents, 
[  have  heard,  were  Catholics,  and  Lucie  has  herself 
told  me,  that  in  her  early  childhood  she  was  in- 
structed in  that  faith." 

"  Lucie  !"  muttered  the  priest,  to  himself,  as  if 
unconscious  of  another's  presence ;  "  and  thai  name 
too  !  but  no, — she  was  not  left  among  the  enemies 
of  our  faith, — it  is  a  strange — an  idle  dream." 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  remained 
several  moments,  apparently  in  deep  musing  ;  and 
when  he  agrAn  looked  up,  every  trace  of  emotion 
was  gone,  though  a  shade  of  melancholy,  deeper 
even  than  usual,  had  settled  on  his  features. 

"  Go  !"  he  said  to  De  Valette,  "  and  betray  not 
the  weakness  you  have  witnessed ;  go  in  peace, 
and  forget,  even  to  pity  me  !" 

Father  Gilbert's  manner  was  too  imposing  to  be 
disputed,  and  De  Valette  left  him  with  silent  reve- 
rence,— perplexed  by  the  mystery  of  his  words,  and 


"■-  •»«r-.- 


^^ •/^*H'»r«k*- 


106 


BIVALS   OF   ACADIA. 


the  singularity  of  his  conduct.  Before  he  rciiched 
the  house,  however,  he  had  convinced  himself,  that 
the  priest  was  not  perfectly  sane,  and  tuat  some 
fancied  resemblance  had  touched  the  chords  of 
memory,  and  revived  the  fading  images  of  early, 
and  perhaps  unhappy  days.  This  appeared  to  him, 
the  only  rational  way  to  account  for  his  eccentri- 
city ;  and  under  this  impression,  as  well  as  from 
the  priest's  injunction,  he  resolved  not  to  mention 
the  interview  and  conversation  to  any  person, 
lie  was  particularly  anxious  to  conceal  it  from 
Lucie,  whose  apprehensions  might  be  increased  by 
the  account ;  and,  in  a  short  time,  indeed, — witii 
the  lightness  of  an  unreflecting  disposition, — a  cir- 
cumstance which  had,  at  the  moment,  so  strongly 
impressed  him,  was  nearly  efliaced  from  his  remem- 
brance. Father  Gilbert  left  the  fort,  and  its  vici- 
nity, in  the  course  of  that  day  ;  but  as  the  priests 
were  continually  called  to  visit  the  scattered  and 
distant  settlements,  his  absence,  though  prolonged 
beyond  the  usual  time,  was  scarcely  heeded. 

In  the  mean  while.  La  Tour  was  informed  that 
M.  D'Aulney  continued  to  embrace  every  oppor- 
tunity to  display  his  hostility  towards  him.  Disap- 
pointed in  the  result  of  his  meditated  attack  on 
fort  St.  John's,  he  had  recourse  to  various  petty 
means  of  injury  and  annoyance.  The  English 
colony,  at  Pemaquid,  were  friendly  to  La  Tour,  ftnd 
their  vessels  frequently  visited  his  fort  to  trade 
ia  the  commodities  of  the  country.     A  shallop  from 


KIVALS   OF  ACADIA.  igj 

llience  liad  put  in  at  Penobscot,  relying  on  the 
good  faith  of  D'Aulney  ;  but,  on  some  sliglit  pre- 
tence, he  detained  it  several  days,  and  though,  at 
lengtli  permitted  to  proceed  on  its  voyage  to  St. 
John's,  the  delay  produced  much  loss  and  embar- 
rassment. La  Tour  resolved  to  avenge  these  re- 
peated insults  ;  and,  hearing  that  the  fort  at  Penob- 
scot was  at  that  time  weakly  defended,  he  made 
immediate  preparations  to  commence  an  attack 
on  it. 

Arthur  Stanhope  still  lingered  at  St.  John's,  and 
every  day  iacreased  his  reluctance  to  depart  from 
it.  Happy  in  the  society  of  Lucie,  he  could  not 
resolve  to  quit  her  till  the  hopes,  which  her  smiles 
again  encouraged,  had  received  her  explicit  sane 
tion  or  rebuke.  He  felt  too,  that  honor  required 
of  him  an  avowal  of  the  sentiments  which  he  had 
not  attempted  to  disguise  ;  he,  therefore,  sought 
the  earliest  opportunity  to  reveal  them,  and  with 
grateful  pleasure  he  received  from  her,  a  blushing 
confession,  that  his  affection  had  been  long  reci- 
procated. His  happiness,  however,  was  slightly 
diminished  by  an  injunction  of  secresy  which  she 
imposed  on  him ;  though  he  found  it  difRcult  to 
object  against  the  motives  which  induced  her  to 
urge  the  request.  Lucil  believed  their  attachment 
was  already  discovered  ;  but  she  had  no  doubt  that 
an  open  disclosure  would  occasion  a  prrhibition 
from  her  guardian  who,  during  her  minority,  had  a 
right  to  restrain  her  choice.    She  was  reluctant  to 


-*^V^'4k*!^ 


108 


niVAI.S   OF   ACADIA. 


h,  r 


act  ill  open  tlcfianro  to  liis  cominan<lM ;  mid  she 
also  resolvod  iicvor  to  sacrilirn  licr  lui|)piiicRH  to  Imk 
ninbitio'iis  schc  uch.  It  had  long  boon  a  favorit* 
ol))(M't  with  l-a  Tour,  to  unite  lior  to  hiH  nephew, 
Do  Valette,  whoso  raidi  and  expectations  would 
have  rendered  an  alliance  equal,  and,  in  many 
respects,  advantageous.  Mad.  do  la  Tour  also, 
favored  the  connexion  ;  and,  though  Luci^  had 
invariably  discourage«l  their  wishes,  her  j^avcrsion 
was  consitlered  as  mere  girlish  caprice  or  coquet- 
ry, which  would  eventually  yield  to  their  solicita- 
tions and  advice.  Do  Valette's  leligion  was  the 
only  obstacle  which  Mad.  la  Tour  was  willing  to 
admit,  and  he  possessed  so  many  desirable  qualifi- 
cations, she  w  as  ready  to  pass  that  over,  as  a  matter 
of  minor  importance,  lioth,  she  alleged,  might 
enjoy  their  own  opinions  ;  and,  even  in  so  close  a 
connexion,  perfect  union  of  religious  sentiment  was 
not  essential  to  liappiness.  Lucie  thought  other- 
wise ;  she  had  been  educated  a  protestant,  and, 
with  many  of  the  prejudices  which  the  persecuted 
Ilugonots  of  that  period  could  scarcely  fail  of 
cherishing  towa.ds  a  church  which  had  sought  to 
crush  them  by  its  perfidy  and  oppression.  These 
feelings,  alone,  would  have  induced  her  to  persist 
in  a  refusal ;  but,  independently  of  them,  she  was 
convinced  that  it  would  never  be  in  her  power  to 
return  the  aftection  of  De  Valette,  with  that  fervor 
and  exclusivencss  which  so  sacred  a  bond  de- 
manded. 


UIVALB    UV    AUAUIA. 


m 


I'roni  licr  lirsl  lUMjuaiiitanct}  willi  Arlliui  Slaii- 
lio|)u,  liiii'.io  liad  pliicod,  |)n-iiii|)H,  uii  iiiipnuloiil 
uiliiu  UII  li'iH  Hocioty  uikI  aUoiilioiiH  ;  uiid  wlien  com- 
pelled duriii;^liiH  ulisunco  to  (|uit  tliu  hcoiich  olllioii 
<]aily  and  iiuppy  intorcourNo,  in  liaHto  uiid  ullliclion, 
anil  williout  (jvcii  a  partiii;;  c,x|>rosHioii  of  kindiioHs 
arid  rngret,  hIic  ftdl,  lor  a  time,  that  licr  hum  oI 
linppinoss  was  Hliioudcd  in  perpetual  elonds.  Ilo- 
iiinntic  as  tliis  atlaeliinent  H(!emed,  it  Ntood  tlie  tUHl 
of  time  and  absence,  lingered  in  the  recesses  of  her 
iicart  through  every  cimngo  of  scene,  and  bright- 
ened tho  darkest  shades  of  doubt,  and  diHiculty, 
and  disappointment.  Hitherto,  her  firmness  ol 
mind  and  principle  had  enabled  her  to  resist  tiie 
wishes  of  her  aunt,  and  tiie  remonstrances  of  Lu 
Tour;  but  their  importunity  had,  of  late,  increased, 
and  evidently  from  an  apprehension,  that  the  undis- 
uiuiscd  partiality  of  Stanhope  might  obtain  un  influ- 
(!nce  over  lier,  detrimental  to  their  favorite  and 
long  cherished  plans.  Luci^  sincerely  regretted 
that  her  choice  was  so  unfortunately  opposed  to 
the  wishes  of  her  aunt ;  and  she  feored  to  encoun- 
ter the  anger  of  La  Tour,  whose  stern  and  irritable 
spirit,  when  once  aroused,  was  uncontrollable  as 
the  stormy  ocean.  But  time,  she  sanguinely  be- 
lieved, would  remove  every  obstacle.  Stanhope 
was  soon  to  leave  her,  and,  in  his  absence,  she 
might  gradually  change  the  sentiments  of  Mad.  la 
Tour ;  and  she  hoped  the  pride  and  generosity  of 
l)c  Valette  would  ^prompt  i»im  voluntarily  to  with- 
10  "^ 


no 


RIVALS   OF   AOADIA. 


draw  a  suit,  vvhioli  was  so  unfavourably  received. 
Even  if  these  expectations  were  disappointed,  she 
would  attain  her  majority  in  the  ensuing  spring, 
when  her  hand  would  be  at  her  own  disposal  and 
she  should  no  longer  hesitate  to  bestow  it,  accord 
ing  to  the  dictates  of  her  heart. 

Stanhope  had  offered  his  assistance  to  La  Tour, 
in  the  projected  expedition  to  Penobscot;  and,  ns 
the  necessary  arrangements  were  nearly  completed, 
a  few  days  only  remained  for  his  continuance  at 
St.  John's.  To  all,  except  Lucie,  it  wus  evident 
his  absence  would  be  unregretted ;  for  he  could 
not  but  remark  the  cold  and  altered  manner  ol' 
Mad.  de  la  Tour,  which  she  vainly  endeavored  to 
disguise,  by  nn  air  of  studied  politeness ;  nor  the 
reserve  and  petulance  of  Do  Valctte,  which  he  did 
not  attempt  to  conceal.  La  Tour  was  too  politic 
to  display  his  dislike  towards  one,  whose  services 
were  so  useful  to  him ;  though  his  prejudices  were, 
in  reality,  the  most  inveterate. 

Father  Gilbert  returned  to  the  fort,  after  an  ab- 
sence of  three  weeks,  ard  he  brought  intelligenjc 
which  deeply  concerned  La  Tour.  D'Aulney  had 
entered  into  a  ncgociation  with  the  magistrates  of 
Boston,  by  which  ho  sought  to  engage  tliem  in  his 
interest,  to  the  exclusion,  and  evident  disadvantage 
of  La  Tour.  He  had  sent  commissioners,  duly  au- 
thorized to  conclude  a  treaty  of  peace  and  com- 
merce with  them,  and  also  a  letter,  signed  by  thr 
vico  acJaiiral  of  France,  which  confirmed  his  right 


RIVALS   OF  ACADIA. 


til 


10  lliu  government.  To  tliis  was  added  a  copy, 
«)r  pretended  copy,  of  certain  proceedings,  whicl' 
proscribed  La  Tour  as  a  rebel  and  a  traitor,  (lo- 
veriior  Winthrop  lia(I,  in  vain,  endeavored  to  heal 
llie  dilVerences,  which  subsisted  between  the  French 
fommandcrs  in  Acadia;  D'Aulney  refused  to  ac- 
cede to  any  conciliatory  measures.  Till  then,  the 
Massachusetts  colony  had  favored  La  Tour,  on  ac- 
count of  his  religious  principles ;  but  the  authority 
of  M.  d'Aulney  now  seemed  so  well  established, 
and  his  power  to  injure  them  was  so  extensive, 
that  they  consented  to  sign  the  articles  in  ({uestion. 
They,  however,  entered  into  no  combination  against 
Ija  Tour,  nor  ilebarrcd  themselves  from  their  usual 
friendly  intercourse  with  him. 

M.  do  la  Tour  listened  to  these  details  with  ex- 
treme indignation,  and  felt  an  increased  anxiety 
to  depart  without  delay.  The  preparations  were, 
therefore,  soon  concluded,  and  they  waited  only 
lor  a  favorable  wind,  to  convey  them  from  the  fort 
of  St.  Jolurs. 


112 


KIVALS   OT  ACADIA. 


OHAFTER   X. 


My  fear  hath  oatch'd  your  fondness — 

«  #  #  *  #  » 

Speak,  js't  so  ? 
Tf  it  be  £0,  you  have  wound  a  goodly  clue  ; 
If  it  be  not,  foresweav't:  howe'er,  I  charge  thee, 
As  heaven  shall  work  in  me  fni  thine  avail, 
To  tell  me  truly. 

SlIAKSPEARK. 


Arthur  Stanhope's  protracted  stay  at  St.  John's, 
occasioned  much  discontent  and  repining  among 
the  crew  of  his  vessel.  Many  of  them  became 
weary  of  their  inactive  hfe,  and  impatient  to  be 
restored  to  the  friends  and  occupations  they  had 
left;  while  the  laxity  of  the  French  soldiers, — the 
open  celebration  of  popish  ceremonies,^ — the  very 
appearance  of  the  priest, — excited  the  indignation 
of  the  more  rigid  and  reflecting.  The  daily  ex- 
hortations of  Mad.  de  la  Tour's  chaplain  were  not 
<jalculated  to  allay  these  irritated  feelings.  One  of 
the  most  austere  of  the  Scotch  dissenters,  Mr. 
Hroadhead,  had  been  induced,  by  religious  zeal,  to 
follow  the  fortunes  of  his  patron,  Sir  William  Al- 
exander, who,  in  1G21,  received  a  grant  of  Acadia, 


BIVALS  OF   ACADIA. 


US 


KSPEARt. 


or  Nova  Scotia,  and  established  the  first  permanent 
settlement  in  that  country.  It  had,  till  then,  been 
alternately  claimed  and  neglected,  both  by  French 
and  English;  and  he  was,  a  few  years  after,  in- 
duced to  relinquish  his  grant  to  La  Tour,  whose 
title  was  confirmed  by  a  patent  from  the  king  of 
England . 

La  Tour,  in  forming  this  settlement,  was  influ- 
enced principally  by  motives  of  interest ;  his  colo- 
ny was  composed  of  adventurers  from  difierent  na- 
tions, and  it  seemed  a  matter  of  indifference  to  him, 
to  what  roaster  he  owed  allegiance.  By  the  well- 
known  treaty  of  St.  Germain's,  Acadia  was  ceded 
to  the  crown  of  France,  on  which  it  alone  depend- 
ed, till  finally  conquered  by  the  English,  when, 
at  a  much  later  period,  its  improvement  and  impor- 
tance rendered  it  more  worthy  of  serious  contest. 
The  policy  of  the  French  government,  while  it  re- 
mained under  their  jurisdiction,  induced  them  to 
attempt  the  conversion  of  the  native  tribes,  as  a 
means  of  advancing  their  own  interest,  and  retard- 
ing the  influence  of  the  English  colonies.  For 
this  purpose,  they  sent  out  Catholic  missionarico^ 
at  an  early  period,  to  the  different  settlements ; 
and  Jesuits  were  particularly  employed,  as  the  ad- 
dress and  subtlety  which  always  distinguished  that 
order  of  priests  peculiarly  fitted  them  for  the  dif- 
ficult task  of  christianizing  the  idolatrous  savages. ' 
Their  power  was  slowly  progressive ;  but,  in  time, 
ihcy  acquired  an  ascendancy,  which  was  extended 

10^  i 


f 
I 


y, 


.1* 


U4 


RIVALS   OF   ACADIA. 


\'\i 


to  the  minutest  of  the  secular,  as  well  as  spiritual 
concerns  of  the  province. 

The  puritans  of  New-England  regarded  these 
dangerous  neighbors  with  distrust  and  fear  ;  nor 
could  they  restrain  their  indignation,  when  the  em- 
blems of  the  Romish  church  were  planted  on  the 
very  borders  of  their  territory.  The  haughty  car- 
riage, which  La  Tcwr  at  first  assumed,  increased 
their  aversion,  and,  in  their  weakness,  rendered 
him  justly  dreaded.  He  prohibited  the  English 
from  trading  with  the  natives,  to  the  east  of  Pema- 
quid,  on  authority  from  the  king  of  France  ;  and, 
when  desired  to  shew  his  commission,  arrogantly 
answered,  "  that  his  sword  wns  sufficient,  while  it 
could  overcome,  and  when  that  failed,  he  would 
find  some  other  means  to  prove  and  defend  his 
right."  The  rival,  and  at  times,  superior  power  of 
D'Aulney,  however,  at  length  reduced  these  lofty 
pretensions,  till  he  was  finally  obliged  to  sue  for 
the  favor,  which  he  had  once  affected  to  despise. 

Mr.  Broadhead,  glad  to  escape  the  storms  of  his 
native  country,  remained  through  all  these  changes 
of  government  and  religion,  and,  at  last,  found  an 
unmolested  station  in  the  household  of  Mad.  de  la 
Tour.  His  spirit,  indeed,  was  often  vexed  by  La 
Tour's  indifference  towards  the  protestant  cause, 
which  he  pretended  to  favor ;  and,  even  with  hor- 
ror, he  sometimes  beheld  him  returning  from  the 
ceremwiials  of  the  papal  church.  The  presence 
vof  the  priests,  also,  about  the  fort,  was  a  constant 


m 


:« 


i 


RIVALS  OF   ACADIA. 


115 


ipivitual 

id  these 
ar  *,   nor 
the  em- 
d  on  the 
rhty  car- 
ncreased 
rendered 
English 
of  Pema- 
ice ;  and, 
rrogantly 
t,  while  it 
he  would 
efend  his 
power  of 
lese  lofty 
,0  sue  for 
lespise. 
Uns  of  his 
changes 
found  an 
ad.  de  la 
jd  by  La 
[nt  cause, 
Iwith  hor- 
from  the 
presence 
constant 


annoyance  to  him,  and  he  seldom  encountered  one 
of  them,  without  a  clashing  of  words,  which,  oc- 
casionally, required  the  interference  of  La  Tour, 
or  his  lady.     In  his  zeal  for  proselytism,  he  seized 
every  opportunity  to  harangue  the  Catholic  sol- 
diers ;  and  his  wrath,  at  what  he  termed  their  ido- 
latry, was  commonly  exhausted  in  indiscriminate 
invectives,  against  every  ceremony  and  doctrine  of 
their  religion.     Frequent  tumults  were  the  result 
of  these  collisions,  though  restrained  in  some  mea- 
sure by  the  commands  of  Mad.  de  la  Tour,  who 
exacted  the  utmost  respect  towards  her  chaplain  ; 
and  La  Tour,  himself,  found  it  necessary  to  use  his 
authority,  in  preventing  such   dangerous  <.xcite- 
ments.     He   was,   therefore,   compelled  to   retire 
within  his  own  immediate  sphere  of  duty,  and, 
however  grieved  and  irritated  by  the  prevalence  of 
error  around  him,  he  in  time  learned  to  repress 
his  feelings,  at  least  in  the  presence  of  those,  to 
whom  they  could  give  oftence. 

The  arrival  of  a  New-England  vessel  at  St. 
John's,  opened  to  Mr.  Broadhead  a  more  extensive 
field  of  labor ;  and  he  soon  found  many  who 
listened  with  avidity  to  his  complaints,  and  joined 
in  his  censures,  of  the  conduct  and  principles  of  La 
Tour.  His  asperity  was  soothed  by  the  sympathy 
lie  received  from  them  ;  and  without  intending  to 
injure  the  interests  of  his  lord,  his  representations 
naturally  weakened  their  confidence  in  him ;  and 
many  began  seriously  to  repent  engaging  in  a 


ii  ^^ 


116 


mvALS   OF   ACADIA. 


\- 


/ 


cause,  which  they  had  espoused  in  a  moment  of 
enthusiasm,  and  without  due  consideration. 

Arthur  Stanhope,  absorbed  by  one  engrossing 
passion,  had  no  leisure  to  mark  the  progress  of  this 
growing  discontent ;  and  his  frequent  absence  from 
the  vessel,  which  gave  an  appearance  of  alienation 
from  their  interest  and  concerns,  increased  the  dis- 
satisfaction of  his  people.  It  was,  therefore,  with 
equal  surprise  and  displeasure,  that  he  at  length 
discovered  their  change  of  feeling,  and  received 
from  a  large  majority  a  decided  refusal  to  enter 
into  any  new  engagements  with  La  Tour.  Their 
term  of  duty,  they  alleged,  had  already  expired, — 
they  were  not  satisfied  with  the  proposed  expedi- 
tion, and  would  no  longer  remain  in  fellovvship  with 
the  adherents  of  an  idolatrous  church.  An^er, 
remonstrance,  and  persuasion,  were  equally  iL^f- 
fectual  to  change  their  determination.  Their  enlist- 
ment was  voluntary,  and  they  had  already  effected 
the  object  for  which  they  engaged  ;  they,  therefore, 
considered  themselves  released  from  further  orders, 
and  at  liberty  to  return  to  their  homes ;  and,  with 
a  stern,  yet  virtuous  resolution,  they  declared,  their 
consciences  could  not  be  bribed  by  all  the  gold  of 
France. 

Stanhope,  vexed  at  a  result  which  he  had  so  little 
anticipated,  and  conscious  that  he  had,  in  reality, 
no  control  over  them,  for  his  command  was  merely 
nominal,  was  glad  to  secure  the  services  of  the  few 
who  still  adhered  to  him,  and  to  compromise  with 


npproac 
but  dar 
the  turb 
and  sullc 
pest.  B 
'ind,  as 


RIVALS   OF   ACADIA. 


117 


oment  of 

1. 

igrossing 
3SS  of  this 
2nce  from 
alienation 
d  the  dis- 
fore,  with 
at  length 
i  received 
,1  to  enter 
ir.    Their 
expired, — 
ed  expedi- 
vvship  with 
1.     An^^er, 
aally  i^^f- 
heir  enlist- 
ly  effected 
therefore, 
er  orders, 
and,  with 
lared,  their 
the  gold  of 

iad  so  little 
in  reality, 

[vas  merely 
of  the  few 

fomisc  with 


the  remcvin'^er.  With  some  difficulty,  he  prevailed 
on  them  to  continue  at  the  fort  till  he  returned 
from  Penobscot,  consenting,  to  abandon  his  vessel 
to  their  use, — for  they  were  not  willing  to  mingle 
with  the  garrison,- -and  embark  himself,  with  as 
many  of  his  o;vn  men  as  chose  to  accompany  him, 
and  a  f?w  Scots,  in  a  smaller  one  of  La  Tour's, 
which  could  be  immediately  prepared  for  the 
voyage,  and  was  better  adapted  to  their  reduced 
numbers. 

This  alteration  occasioned  some  delay ;  and  La 
Tour's  impatience  was,  more  than  once,  vented  in 
imprecations  on  the  individuals,  whose  sense  of 
duty  interfered  with  his  selfish  projects.  An  ad- 
verse wind  detained  them  a  day  or  two,  after  every 
arrangement  was  completed  ;  but  so  great  was  La 
Tour's  eagerness  to  depart,  that  he  embarked  at 
sun-set,  on  the  first  appearance  of  a  favourable 
cliange,  hoping  to  weigh  anchor  by  the  dawn  of 
(lay,  or  sooner,  should  the  night  prove  clear,  and 
the  wind  shift  to  the  desired  point.  Stanhope 
remonstrated  against  this  haste,  as  his  nautical 
experience  led  him  to  apprehend  evil  from  it ; 
th?  clouds  which  for  some  time  had  boded  an 
approaching  storm,  indeed,  seemed  passing  away  ; 
but  dark  masses  still  lingered  in  the  horizon,  and 
the  turbid  waters  of  the  bay  assumed  that  calm 
and  sullen  aspect,  which  so  often  precedes  a  tem- 
pest. But  La  Tour  was  obstinate  in  his  resolution  ; 
and,  as  it  was  important  that  the  vessels  should 


f 


I! 


1 


II 


lis 


RIVALS    OF   ACADIA. 


\M 


sail  in  company,  Stanhope  yielded  to  his  solicita- 
tions, and  left  the  f'ort  vith  that  dreariness  of  heart, 
which  ever  attends  the  moment  of  parting  from 
those  we  love. 

Mad.  de  la  Tour,  soon  after  her  husband'?  de- 
parture, passed  llie  gate,  on  a  visit  of  charity  to  u 
neighboring  cottage.  The  long  srmmer  twilight 
was  deepening  on  the  hills,  as  she  returned  ;  and, 
with  surprise,  she  observed  Lucie  loitering  among 
a  tuft  of  trees,  whicli  grow  near  the  water's  edge, 
at  a  short  distance  from  her  path.  Believing  she 
had  come  out  to  seek  her.  Mad.  la  Tour  approached 
the  spot  where  she  stood ;  but  Lucie's  attention 
was  wholly  engaged  by  a  light  boat  which  had 
just  pushed  from  the  shore,  and  rapidly  neared  the 
.vessel  of  Arthur  Stanhope,  which  lay  at  anchor 
below  the  fort.  She  could  not  identify  the  only 
person  which  it  contained,  but  a  suspicion  that  it 
was  Stanhope,  instantly  crossed  her  mind.  Sup- 
pressing her  vexation,  Mad.  la  Tour  addressed 
Lucie; — she  started,  and  a  crimson  glow  suffused 
her  face,  as  she  looked  up  and  met  the  eyes  of  hei 
aunt,  fixed  inquiringly  on  her. 

"  You  are  alroad  at  an  unusual  hour  this  even- 
ing, Lucie,"  said  Mad.  de  la  Tour,  without  appear- 
ing to  notice  her  confusion. 

"  Yes,  later  than  I  was  aware,"  she  answered, 
with  some  hesitation  ;  "  I  have  been  to  Annette's 
cottage,  and  was  accidentally  detained  on  my 
return." 


you 
thougj 
you  ki 
a  wish 

absenci 
anxici's 
"  Vo 
anxious 
yield  to 
parted 
what  ha 
and  why 
«o  long 
"  Froi 
you  hav 
of  my  he 
"But 
tated ;  " 
Mr.  Star 

"He 
'ler  Inge; 
lieved  fr 
""own  t; 
^"glit,  at 
"  More 
J»ad  it  in 


T^ 


n 


niVAIiS   OF   ACADIA. 


Ill) 


jolicUa- 
»f  heart, 
12  from 

LiicV"  de- 
rity  to  u 
twilight 
ed;  and, 
ig  among 
it's  edge, 
jving  she 
»proached 
attention 
kfhich  bad 
leared  the 
at  anchor 
[y  the  only 
ion  that  il 
nd.     Sup- 
addressed 
w  suffused 
yes  of  hev 

this  even- 
)ut  appear- 

answered, 
o  Annette's 
led  on  my 


''  Accidentally  !"  repented  Mad.  de  la  Tour,  with 
a  look  which  again  crimsoned  tiie  cheek  of  Lucie ; 
"you  were  not  detained  by  any  ill  tidings,  I  trust, 
though  your  tearful  eyes  betray  emotions,  which, 
you  know,  I  love  you  too  well  to  witnesjs,  without 
a  wish  to  learn  the  cause." 

"How  era  vou  ask  the  cause,  dear  ar.nt,  when 
we  hpve  ']vi  parted  from  so  many  friends,  whose 
absence,  and  probable  danger,  cannot  but  kiivo  us 
anxicus  and  dejected  !" 

"  You  were  not  wont  to  indulge  a  gloomy  or 
anxious  spirit,  Lucie ;  and  wiiy  should  you  noio 
yield  to  it  ?  Nay,  but  an  hour  or  two  since,  you 
parted  with  apparent  composure  from  all  ;  and 
what  has  since  happened  to  occasion  this  regret  ? 
and  why  should  you  conceal  it  from  me,  who  have 
f>o  long  been  your  friend  and  confidant  ?" 

"  From  yon,  dear  aunt,  I  would  conceal  nothing  ; 
you  have  a  right  to  know  every  thought  and  wish 
of  my  heart ;  but" — 

"  But  what  f"  asked  Mad.  la  Tour,  as  she  hesi- 
tated ;  "  answer  me  one  question,  Lucie ;  has  not 
Mr.  Stanhope  but  just  now  quitted  you  .''" 

"  He  has,"  said  Lucie,  deeply  blushing,  though 
her  ingenuous  countenance  told  that  she  was  re- 
lieved from  a  painful  reserve ;  "  and  now  all  is 
known  to  you, — all, — and  more,  perhaps,  than  I 
ought,  at  present,  to  have  revealed." 

"  More,  far  more,  than  you  ought  ever  to  have 
had  it  in  your  power  to  reveal !"  said  Mad.  de  la 


120 


lllVALS   OF  ACADIA. 


m 


if 


Tour,  in  an  accent  of  displeasure ;  "  and  it  is  lor 
this  stranger  that  you  have  slighted  the  wishes  of 
your  natural  guardians, — that  you  have  roiccted 
the  love  of  one,  in  every  respect  wort  .  your 
choice  !" 

"  Those  wishes  were  inconsistent  with  my  duty," 
returned  Lucie  ;  "  and  that  love  I  could  never  re- 
compense !  Dearest  aunt,"  she  added,  and  the  tears 
again  filled  her  eyes,  "  forgive  me  in  this  one  in- 
stance ;  it  is  the  only  thought  of  my  heart,  which 
has  been  concealed  from  you  ;  and,  believe  me, 
this  was  concealed,  only  to  save  yourself  and  mc 
from  reproaches,  which,  were  I  now  mistress  of 
my  actions,  I  should  not  fear  to  meet." 

"  Rather  say,  Lucie,  it  vvas  concealed  to  suit  the 
wishes  of  your  lover ;  but  is  it  honorable  in  him  to 
seek  your  affections  clandestinely  ?  to  bind  you  by 
promises,  which  are  unsanctioned  by  your  friends.^" 
"  You  are  unjust  to  liim,"  said  Lucie,  eagerly  ; 
"  you  suspect  him  of  a  meanness,  which  he  could 
never  practice.  I  only  am  to  blame  for  whatever 
is  wrong  and  secret.  He  has  never  wished  to  dis- 
guise his  attachment,  and  you  were  not  slow  to 
detect  arfd  regret  it ;  he  was  encouraged  by  my 
dear  aunt  Rossville,  but  circumstances  separated 
us,  and  I  scarcely  dared  hope  that  we  should  ever 
meet  again" — 

"But  you  did  meet,"  interrupted  Mad.  de  la  Tour, 
•*  and  why  all  this  mystery  and  reserve  .''" 

"I  dreaded  my  uncle's  anger," said  Lucie  :  "  and 


^.-t. 


RIVALS   OF   ACADIA. 


I2i 


persuaded  Stanhope,  against  liis  inclination,  to 
leave  me  without  any  explanation  to  my  guardian, 
till  the  time  arrives  when  I  shall  be  at  liberty  to 
choose  for  myself;  and  till  then,  1  have  refused  to 
enter  into  any  engagements, — except  those  which 
my  heart  has  long  since  made,  and  which  nothing 
ever  can  dissolve." 

"  To  me,  at  least,  Lucie,  you  might  have  con- 
fided this  ;  you  would  not  have  found  me  arbitrary 
or  tyrannical,  and  methinks,  the  advice  of  an  expe- 
rienced friend  would  not  have  been  amiss  on  a  sub- 
ject of  such  importance." 

"I  well  know  your  lenity  and  affection,  dear 
aunt,"  returned  Luci^  ;  "  but  I  was  most  unwilling 
to  involve  you  in  my  difficulties,  and  expose  you 
to  my  uncle's  displeasure  ;  in  time,  all  would  have 
been  known  to  you ;  I  should  have  taken  no  im- 
portant step  without  your  advice ;  and  why  should 
I  perplex  you,  with  what  could  now  be  of  no 
avail .?" 

"  I  am  willing  to  believe  you  intended  to  do  right, 
Lucie,  though  I  am  not  yet  convinced  that  you  have 
done  so ;  but  we  are  near  the  gate,  and  will  dis- 
miss the  subject  till  another  opportunity." 

Lucie  gladly  assented,  and  their  walk  was  pur- 
sued in  silence. 


U 


^_;  . 


122 


RIVALS  OF  ACADIA. 


OHAFTSB    ZI. 


a  111 


Bedimm'd 
The  noontide  sun,  callM  forth  the  mutinous  winds, 
And  'twixt  the  green  sea  and  the  azur'd  vault 
Set  roaring  war. 

Shakspcark. 


At  day-break,  the  vessels  of  La  Tour  and  Stan- 
hope spread  their  sails  to  a  light  wind,  which  bore 
them  slowly  from  the  harbor  of  St.  John's.  The 
fort  long  lingered  in  their  view,  and  the  richly 
wooded  shores  and  fertile  fields  gradually  receded, 
as  the  rising  sun  begL.i  to  shed  its  radiance  on  the 
luxuriant  landscape.  But  the  morning,  which  had 
burst  forth  in  brightness,  was  soon  overcast  with 
clouds ;  and  the  light,  which  had  shone  so  cheer- 
ingly  on  hill  and  valley,  like  the  last  gleams  of  de- 
parting hope,  became  shrouded  in  gloom  and  dark- 
ness. Still,  however,  they  kept  on  their  course ; 
and  by  degrees  the  wind  grew  stronger,  and  the 
dead  calm  of  the  sea  was  agitated  by  its  increasing 
violence. 

The  confines  of  Acadia,  which  were  then  unde- 
fined, stretched  along  the  borders  of  the  bay,  pre- 
senting a  vast    and    uncultivated  tract,  varying 


BIVALS   OP  ACADIA. 


123 


through  every  shade  of  sterility  and  verdure  ;  from 
the  bare  and  beetling  promontory,  which  defied  the 
encroaching  tide,  the  desert  plain,  and  dark  mo- 
rass, to  the  impervious  forest,  the  sloping  upland, 
and  the  green  valley,  watered  by  its  countless 
streams.  A  transient  sun-beam,  at  times,  gilded 
tliis  variegated  prospect,  and  again  the  flitting 
clouds  chequered  it  with  their  dark  shadows,  till 
the  dense  vapor,  which  hung  over  the  water,  at 
length  arose,  and  formed  an  impenetrable  veil,  ex- 
cluding every  object  from  the  sight. 

Night  closed  in  prematurely  ;  the  ships  parted 
company,  and,  in  the  increasing  darkness,  there 
was  llttlp  prospect  of  joining  again ;  noi*  wSb  it 
possible  for  either  to  ascertain  the  situation  of  its 
partner.  La  Tour's  vessel  had  out-sailed  the  other, 
through  the  day  ;  and  he  had  so  often  navigated 
the  bay,  and  rivers  of  the  coast,  that  every  isle  and 
lieadland  were  perfectly  familiar  to  him.  But 
Stanhope  had  little  practical  knowledge  of  its  lo- 
calities, and,  not  caring  to  trust  implicitly  to  his 
pilot,  he  proceeded  with  the  utmost  caution,  sound- 
ing at  convenient  distances,  lest  he  should  deviate 
from  the  usual  course,  and  run  aground  on  rocks, 
or  in  shallow  water.  Though  with  little  chance  of 
success,  he  caused  lights  to  be  hung  out,  hoping 
they  might  attract  the  attention  of  La  Tour  ;  but 
their  rays  could  not  penetrate  the  heavy  mist,  which 
concealed  even  the  nearest  objects  from  observa- 
tion.   Signal  guns  were  also  fired  at  intervals,  but 


■■4^«>* 


(21 


RIVALS  Ot  ACADIA. 


their  report  mingled  wiih  tlic  sullen  murmur  of  tlio 
wind  and  wqvcm,  and  no  answering  sound  was  heard 
or  the  solitary  deep.  Apprehensive  that  they  ap- 
proached too  near  the  land,  in  the  gjonm  and  un- 
certainty whicli  surrounded  them,  Stanhope  resolv- 
ed to  anchor,  and  wait  for  returning  thiy. 

This  resolution  was  generally  approved  ;  for, 
among  the  adventurers  who  aeconipanied  him,  Stan- 
hope could  number  few  expert  siMunen,  and  tht; 
mitural  fears  of  the  inexperienced  were  heightened 
by  superstitious  fcelingin,  at  that  time  prevalent 
among  all  elasstis  of  people.  Many  seemed  per- 
suaded that  they  were  ssuHbred  to  fall  into  danger, 
as  a  judgment  for  joining  with  papists,  in  a  t  imwr 
of  doubtful  ecpiity  ;  and  they  expressed  a  determi- 
nalion  to  relincpiish  all  further  eoneern  in  it,  should 
they  he  permitted  to  reach  the  destined  shore  in 
safety.  Arguments,  at  such  a  ir.oment,  were  use- 
h'ss  ;  and  Arthur,  perplexed  and  anxious,  yet  cau- 
tious to  conceal  iiis  <lis(|uietu<le,  passe<l  the  whole 
of  that  tedious  night  in  watch  upon  the  deck. 

Another  iiawn  revived  the  hopes  of  all, — but 
they  were  only  transient ;  the  tempest,  which  had 
|)een  so  long  gathering,  was  nMuly  to  burst  upon 
their  lunids.  Clouds  pileil  on  clouds  darkencjl  tlie 
liimvens,  the  winds  blew  with  extrtuiie  violence,  and 
the  angry  wav(;s,  crested  with  foamy  wreaths,  now 
bore  the  vessel  niountain  high,  then  sunk  with  a 
tremendous  roar,  threatening  to  engidph  it  in  tia 
fearful  abyss.     Still  the  shi])  steered  bravely  on  her 


VITALS  OF   AOiniA. 


125 


»,onis(?,  ill  dcrmiico  of  the  raging  elements ;  nml 
Stnnliopc  hoped  to  guide  her  sal'oly  to  a  hiirbor,  nt 
no  great  distance,  whore  sh(;  nnght  ride  out  the 
storm  at  anchor,  Tor  destruction  appeared  inevita- 
ble, if  they  remained  in  the  open  sea.  Tliis  har- 
bor lay  at  an  ishunl,  near  the  entrance  of  the  river 
Schoodic,  or  8t.  Croix  ;  and  was  iniich  frtMjuented 
by  the  trading  and  fishing  vessels  of  New-Knghmd 
and  Acadiu.  Already  they  seemed  to  gain  the  pro- 
mised haven,  and  every  eye  was  eagerly  directed  to 
it,  with  the  ahnost  certain  prospect  of  release  from 
danger  and  suspense. 

It  was  necessary  to  tack,  to  enter  the  channel  of 
the  river  ;  and,  at  that  fatal  moment,  the  wind 
struck  the  mainmast  with  a  force  which  instantly 
threw  it  over-board  ;  and  the  ship,  cast  on  iicr 
beam-ends  by  the  violence  of  the  shock,  lay  ex- 
posed to  a  heavy  sea,  which  broke  over  her  deck 
and  stern.  The  crew,  roused  by  their  immediate 
hazard,  used  every  exertion  to  right  the  vessel ; 
and  Stanhope,  who  had  not  abandoned  the  helm 
since  the  first  moment  of  peril,  managed,  with  ad- 
mirable dexterity,  to  bear  her  off  from  the  danger- 
ous shore,  to  which  she  was  continually  impelled 
by  the  wind  and  tidi;.  Hut  another  blast,  more 
licrce  tluui  the  former,  combined  with  the  waves, 
to  complete  the  work  of  destruction.  Tiic  vessc'i 
was  left  a  mere  hulk  ;  and  the  rudder,  thoir  last 
hope,  torn  awoy  by  the  appalling  concussion,  she 


136 


RITALS   or  ACADIA. 


was  driven  among  the  breakers,  which  burst  furi- 
ously around  her. 

"  The  ship  isgonc  !"  said  Stanhope,  with  unna- 
tural calmness,  as  he  felt  it  reel,  and  on  the  verge 
of  foundering ;  "  save  yourselves,  if  it  is  not  too 
late  !" 

A  boat  had  been  fortunately  preserved  amidst 
the  general  wreck  ;  and  with  the  vehemence  of 
despair,  they  precipitated  themselves  into  it.  It 
seemed  perilous,  indeed,  to  trust  so  frail  a  bark, 
and  heavy  laden  as  it  was,  amidst  the  boiling 
surge ;  but  it  was  their  only  resource,  and,  witli 
trembling  anxiety,  they  ventured  upon  the  danger- 
ous experiment.  Stanhope  was  the  last  to  enter ; 
and  with  silent,  and  almost  breathless  caution,  they 
again  steered  towards  the  island,  from  which  they 
had  been  so  rudely  driven.  Some  fishermen,  who 
had  found  a  refuge  there  from  the  storm,  and  wit- 
nessed the  distress,  which  they  were  unable,  soon- 
er, to  relieve,  came  to  their  assistance,  and  in  a 
short  time  all  were  safely  landed,  and  comfortably 
sheltered  in  huts,  which  had  been  erected  by  the 
frequenters  of  the  island. 

Stanhope's  solicitude  respecting  La  Tour  was 
relieved  by  the  fishermen,  several  of  whom  had 
seen  his  vessel  early  on  that  morning,  standing  out 
for  Penobscot  Bay  ;  and  though  slightly  damaged, 
they  had  no  doubt  she  would  weather  the  storm, 
which  was,  probably,  less  violent  there,  than  in  the 
more  turbulent  Bay  of  Fundy.    Arthur  was  dcsir- 


BIVALS  OF  ACADIA. 


127 


uiis  of  rejoining  him,  as  soon  as  possible ;  to  re- 
port iiis  own  misfortune,  and  assist  in  the  execu- 
tion of  those  plans,  which  had  induced  the  voyage. 
Hut  his  men,  in  general,  were  still  reluctant  to 
complete  their  late  engagement  ;  they  regarded 
the  disaster  which  had  so  recently  placed  tlieir 
lives  in  jeopardy  as  a  signal  interposition  of  Pro- 
vidence, and  they  resolved  to  obey  the  warning, 
nd  return  to  their  respective  homes.  Stanhope, 
vexed  with  their  wavering  conduct,  and  convinced 
(hat  he  could  not  place  any  reliance  on  their  ser- 
vices, made  no  attempt  to  detain  them.  The  Scots, 
and  a  few  of  his  own  people,  still  adhered  to  him ; 
and  he  hired  a  small  vessel,  which  lay  at  the  island, 
intending  to  proceed  to  Penobscot  as  ' '^on  as  the 
weather  would  permit. 

The  storm  continued  through  that  day  ; — the 
evening,  also,  proved  dark  and  tempestuous ;  but 
Stanhope,  exhausted  by  fatigue,  slept  soundly  on  a 
rude  couch,  and  beneath  a  shelter  that  admitted 
both  wind  and  rain.  He  was  awake,  however,  by 
the  earliest  dawn,  and  actively  directing  the  ne- 
cessary arrangements  for  his  departure.  The  storm 
had  passed  away  ;  not  a  cloud  lingered  in  the  azure 
sky,  and  the  first  tinge  of  orient  light  was  calmly 
reflected  from  the  waves,  which  curled  and  mur- 
mured around  the  beautifiil  island  they  embraced. 
The  herbage  had  put  on  a  deeper  verdure,  and  the 
wild  flowers  of  summer  sent  forth  a  richer  fra- 
grance on  the  fresh  and  balmy  air.    The  moistened 


J 


I 


i| 


% 


128 


niVALS   OV   AOADIA. 


I^'^i 


Ibliagc  of  tlie  trees  (iinplnycd  a  tliousand  varying 
lines;  ami,  nniong  tlicir  branches,  innumerable 
birds  sported  their  brilHant  pluinoge,  and  warbled 
tlioir  nielodions  not(*s,  as  if  rejoicing  in  the  restor- 
ed serenity  of  nature. 

Arthur  had  wandered  from  the  scene  of  busy 
preparation ;  he  was  alone  amidst  this  paradise  of 
sweets,  but  his  heart  held  intercourse  with  the  lov- 
ed and  distant  object  of  hiv  hopes,  whose  image 
was  ever  present  to  his  fancy.  lie  stood  againsl 
the  ruins  of  a  fort,  which  had  been  built  almost 
forty  years  before,  by  the  Sieur  de  Monts,  who,  on 
that  spot,  lirst  planted  the  standard  of  the  king  oi 
France,  in  Acadia.  Circumstances  soon  after  in- 
duced him  to  remove  the  settlement  he  had  com- 
menced there,  across  the  bay  to  Port-Royal  ;  the 
island  was  neglected  by  succeeding  adventurers, 
and  his  labors  were  suffered  to  fall  into  ruin.  Time 
had  already  laid  his  withermg  finger  upon  the 
walls,  and  left  his  mouldering  image  amid  the  fair 
creations  of  the  youthful  world.  Fragments,  over- 
grown with  moss  and  lichen,  strewed  the  ground  : 
the  creeping  ivy  wreathed  its  garlands  around  the 
broken  walls,  and  lofty  trees  had  struck  their  roots 
deep  into  the  foundations,  and  threw  the  shadow  ol 
their  branches  across  the  crumbling  pile. 

The  lonely  and  picturesque  beauty  of  the  scene, 
and  the  associations  connected  with  it,  at  first  di- 
verted the  current  of  Arthur's  thoughts;  but  Lucie 
soon  resumed  her  influence  over  his  imagination. 


KIVAtB   OP   ACAniA. 


121) 


Vet  a  iMiinful  impression,  tliut  ho  Imd  wasted  som(3 
iiiorncnts  in  tluH  dream  of  funcy,  which  flhould  have 
been  sf)ent  in  action,  shortly  urotiscd  him  from  his 
musing  ;  and,  as  ho  felt  the  airy  vision  disnolve,  Ik; 
almost  unconsciously  pronounced  the  name  most 
dear  to  him. 

That  name  was  instantly  repeated, — but  so  low, 
that  he  might  have  fancied  it  the  tremulous  echo 
of  his  own  voice,  but  for  the  startling  sigh  which 
accompanied  it,  and  struck  him  with  almost  super- 
stitious awe.  lie  turned  to  see  if  any  one  was 
near,  and  met  the  eyes  of  father  (lilbert,  fixed  on 
him  with  a  gaze  of  earnest,  yet  melancholy,  en- 
quiry. The  cowl,  which  generally  shaded  hii? 
brow,  was  thrown  back,  and  his  cheeks,  furrowed 
by  early  and  hr.bitual  grief,  were  blanched  to  even 
unusual  paleness.  He  grasped  a  crucifix  in  his 
folded  hands,  and  his  cold,  stern  features,  were 
softened  by  an  expression  of  deep  sorrow,  which 
touched  tlic  heart  of  Stanhope.  He  bent  respcct- 
i'ully  before  the  holy  man,  but  remained  silent,  and 
uncertain  how  to  address  him. 

"  You  have  been  unfortunate,  young  man,"  said 
the  priest,  after  a  moment's  pause  ;  "  but,  remeni- 
bcr  that  the  evils  of  life  are  not  infhcted  without 
design ;  and  happy  are  they,  who  early  profit  by 
(ho  Icasons  of  adversity  !" 

"  I  have  escaped  unharmed,  and  with  the  lives  of 
all  my  companions,"  returned  Stanhope ;  "  I  should, 
therefore,  be  ungrateful  to  repine  at  the  slight  evil 


\  I 


130 


UIVAL9   07  ACADIA. 


which  has  befallen  me  ;  but  you  were  more  highly 
favorerl,  to  reach  a  safe  harbor,  before  the  tempest 
began  to  rage  !" 

"  Storms  and  sunshine  are  ahke  to  me,"  he  an- 
swered ;  "  for  twenty  years  I  have  braved  the  win- 
try tempests,  and  endured  the  summer  heats,  often 
unsheltered  in  the  savage  desert ;  and  still  I  follow, 
wherever  the  duties  of  my  holy  calling  lead,  impart- 
ing to  others  that  consolation,  which  can  never 
again  cheer  my  wearied  spirit.  Leave  me,  now, 
young  man,"  he  added,  after  a  brief  silence  ;  "  your 
duty  calls  you  hence  ;  anci  why  linger  you  here, 
and  dream  awoy  those  fleeting  moments,  which  can 
never  be  recalled  ?" 

"  Perhaps  I  merit  that  reproof,"  said  Stanhope, 
coloring  highly  ;  "  but  I  have  not  been  inattentive 
to  my  duty,  and  I  am,  even  now,  in  readiness  to  de- 
part." 

"  Pardon  me,  my  son,  if  I  have  spoken  harshly,'* 
returned  the  priest ;  "  but  I  would  urge  you  to  has- 
ten your  departure.  La  Tour,  ere  this,  has  reach- 
ed Penobscot ;  he  is  too  rash  and  impetuous  to  de- 
lay his  purpose,  and  one  hour  may  turn  the  scale 
to  victory  or  defeat." 

Stanhope  answered  only  by  a  gesture  of  respect, 
as  he  turned  away  from  him ;  and  he  proceeded 
directly  to  the  beach,  where  his  vessel  lay,  reflect- 
ing, as  he  went  along,  on  the  singularity  of  father 
Gilbert's  sudden  appearance,  and  wondering  why 
he  should  have  repeated  the  name  of  Lucie,  and 


and  St 
wards  tf 
to  recon 
yet,  seei 
decline( 
ofgolde 
tensive 
adorned 
size,  pre 
and,  gra< 
ing  in  th 
almost  I 


i*^^Sl*j«*- 


niVALS   OF  ACADIA. 


IJl 


with  such  evident  emotion.  The  agitation  he  had 
betrayed,  on  meeting  her  in  the  garden  at  St.  John's, 
was  not  forgotten  ;  and  Arthur  had  longed,  yet 
dared  not,  to  ask  some  questions  which  might  lead 
to  an  elucidation  of  the  seeming  mystery. 

The  sun  had  scarcely  risen,  when  Stanhope  left 
the  island  of  St.  Croix  ;  the  wind  was  fair  and  stea- 
dy, and  the  sea  retained  no  traces  of  its  recent  tur- 
bulence, except  some  fragments  of  the  wreck, 
which  floated  around.  Their  vessel  was  but  a  poor 
substitute  for  the  one  which  they  had  lost,  but  it 
sailed  well,  and  answered  the  purpose  of  their  short 
voyage  ;  and  the  crew  were  stout  in  heart  and  spi- 
rits, notwithstanding  their  late  disasters.  Stanhope 
particularly  regretted  the  loss  of  their  fire-arms  and 
ammunition,  though  he  had  fortunately  obtained  a 
small  supply  from  the  people  at  the  island.  Early 
in  the  afternoon  they  entered  the  bay  of  Penobscot, 
and  Stanhope  directed  his  course  immediately  to- 
wards the  fort ;  he  ventured,  at  no  great  distance, 
to  reconnoitre,  and  was  surprised  that  he  had,  as 
yet,  seen  nothing  of  La  Tour.  The  sun  at  length 
declined  behind  the  western  hills,  leaving  a  flood 
of  golden  light  upon  the  waveless  deep.  The  ex- 
tensive line  of  coast,  indented  by  numerous  bays, 
adorned  with  a  thousand  isles  of  every  form  and 
size,  presented  a  rich  and  boundless  prospect; 
and,  graced  with  the  charms  of  summer,  and  repos- 
ing in  the  calm  of  that  glowinr  twilight,  it  seemed 
almost  like  a  region  of  enchantment. 


■  I 


:  '^i 


rl 


132 


niVALS   OV  ACADIA. 


The  yerenity  and  beauty  of  such  a  scene  was 
more  deeply  enjoyed,  from  the  contrast  which  it 
presented  to  the  turbulence  of  the  preceding  day  ; 
and  Stanhope  lingered  around  the  coast,  till  warn- 
ed by  the  gathering  gloom  that  it  nas  time  to  seek 
a  harbor,  where  they  might  repose  in  security 
through  the  night.  Trusting  to  the  experience  of 
his  pilot,  he  entered  what  is  called  Frenchman's 
Bay,  and  anchored  to  the  eastward  of  Mount  De- 
sert island.  Night  seemed  to  approach  reluctant- 
ly, and  gemmed  with  her  starry  train,  she  threw  a 
softer  veil  around  the  lovely  scenes,  which  had 
shone  so  brightly  beneath  the  light  of  day.  The 
wild  solitudes  of  nature  uttered  no  sound;  the 
breeze  had  ceased  its  sighing,  and  the  waves  broke 
gently  on  the  grassy  shore.  The  moon  rode  high 
in  the  heavens,  pouring  her  young  light  on  sea  and 
land ;  and  the  summit  of  the  Blue  Hills  was  radi- 
ant with  hor  silver  beams. 


listed  h 


(' 


RIVALS   01*  ACADIA. 


I3r> 


CHAPTER  ZZZ. 


Mar.  Til  fight  with  none  hnt  thee  ;  for  I  do  hate  thee 

Wori-e  than  a  promise-breaker. 
-^?//.  We  hate  alilte  ; 

Not  Afric  owns  a  serpent,  I  abhor 

More  than  thy  fame  and  envy. 

SlIAKSFEARE. 


La  Tour,  in  the  darkness  of  the  night  succeed- 
ing his  depaitiure  from  St.  John's,  had  found  it  im- 
possible to  communicate  with  Stanhope  ;  and,  pru- 
dently consulting  his  own  safety  in  view  of  the  ap- 
proaching storm,  he  crowded  sail,  hoping  to  reacii 
some  haven,  before  the  elements  commenced  their 
fearful  conflict.  In  his  zeal  for  personal  security, 
he  persuaded  himself,  that  Arthur's  nautical  skill 
would  extricate  him  from  danger ;  but  he  forgot 
the  peculiar  difficulties  to  which  he  was  exposed  by 
his  ignorance  of  the  coast,  and  also,  that  he  was 
embarked  in  a  vessel  far  less  prepared  than  his 
own,  to  encounter  the  heavy  gale  which  seemed 
mustering  from  every  quarter  of  the  heavens.  Per- 
fectly familiar,  himself,  with  a  course  which  he  fre- 
quently traversed, — in  an  excellent  ship,  and  as- 
sisted by  experienced  seamen, — ^he  was  enabled  to 

12 


i     fl 


''-    vW 

njuKi 

'■  \mm 

|J|i: 

.  ^H 

^H^ ' 

t  i^^H 

H 

lil 

m 

V  HHP 

Imi 

)  ^Vs 

H^i' 

I  ^Hl 

ni' 

134 


RIVALS    OF  ACADIA. 


ft 


1' 


I! 


steer,  with  comparative  safety,  tlirough  the  almost 
tangible  darknoss ;  and,  early  on  the  following 
morning,  he  entered  the  smoother  waters  of  Penob- 
scot Bay,  and  anchored  securely  in  one  of  the  nu- 
merous harbors  which  it  embraces. 

The  day  passed  away,  and  brought  no  tidings 
from  Stanhope  ;  and  De  Valette,  though  their 
friendship  had  of  late  been  interrupted  by  coldness 
and  distrust,  had  too  much  generosity  to  feel  insen- 
sible to  his  probable  danger.  But  La  Tour  ex- 
pressed the  utmost  confidence  that  he  had  found 
some  sheltering  port, — as  the  whole  extent  of  coast 
abounds  with  harbors,  which  may  be  entered  with 
perfect  security, — and  the  night  proving  too  tem- 
pestuous to  venture  abroad  for  intelligence,  De  Va- 
lette was  obliged  to  rest  contented  with  hoping  for 
the  best. 

La  Tour  wishing  to  obtain  more  minute  informa- 
tion respecting  the  situation  of  D'Aulney,  intended 
to  proceed,  first;  to  Pemai^^uid  ;  and,  should  Stan- 
hope, from  u.iy  cause,  fail  of  joining  him,  he  might 
probably  receive  assistance  from  the  Engli«^'i  at 
that  place,  who  had  always  been  friendly  to  him, 
and  were  particularly  interested  in  suppressing  the 
dreaded  power  of  M.  d'Aulney.  But,  while  bu- 
sied in  preparation,  on  the  day  succeeding  the 
storm,  and  repairing  the  slight  damage  wiiich  his 
vessel  had  sustained,  the  report  of  some  fishermen 
entirely  changed  the  plan  and  destiny  of  the  expe- 
dition.   La  Tour  learned  from  them,  that  D'AuI- 


i 


A 


ItlVAlS   0¥  ACADIA. 


135 


ncy  was  at  that  time  absent  from  liis  fort,  having 
left  it,  two  or  lliroe  days  before,  witli  a  small  party, 
to  go  on  a  hunting  excursion  up  the  river  Penob- 
scot. His  garrison,  they  added,  had  been  recently 
reduced,  by  fitting  out  a  vessel  for  France,  to  re- 
turn with  ammunition,  and  other  supplies,  iji  which 
he  was  extremely  deficient. 

This  information  determined  La  Tour  to  attack 
the  fort  without  delay.  Every  thing  seemed  to  fa- 
vor his  wishes,  and  hold  out  a  prospect  of  success. 
Though  small  in  numbers,  he  placed  perfect  confi- 
dence in  the  courage  of  his  men,  most  of  whom  had 
long  adhered  to  his  service,  and  followed  him  in  the 
desultory  skirmishes  in  which  he  frequently  engag- 
ed. Impetuous  to  a  fault,  and  brove  even  to  rash- 
nes^j  he  had,  as  yet,  been  gentriUy  successful  in 
his  undertakings,  and,  though  often  unimportant, 
even  to  his  own  interests,  they  were  marked  by  a 
reckless  contempt  of  danger,  calculated  to  inspirit 
and  attach  the  followers  of  such  an  adventurer. 

La  Tour,  piloted  by  a  fisherman  whom  he  took 
aboard,  landed  on  a  peninsula,  since  called  Baga- 
duce  point,  on  which  the  fort  was  situated.  He 
intended  to  make  nis  first  attack  on  a  farm-house 
of  D'Aulney's,  where  he  was  told  some  military 
stores  were  lodged  ;  and,  from  thence,  bring  up  his 
men  in  rear  of  the  fort.  He  sanguinely  believed, 
that  in  the  absence  of  the  commander,  it  would 
soon  yield  to  his  sudden  and  impetuous  assault ; 
or,  if  he  had  been  in  any  respect  deceived,  chat  it 


■^T 


136 


RIVALS   OV  ACADIA. 


would  be  easy  to  secure  a  safe  retreat  to  the  boats 
from  whicli  he  had  landed.  De  Valette,  in  the 
mean  time,  was  ordered  to  divert  the  attention  of 
the  garrison,  by  sailing  before  the  walls ;  and,  if 
necessary,  to  afford  a  more  efficient  succor. 

In  perfect  silence,  La  Tour  led  on  his  little  band 
through  tangled  copse-wood  and  impervious  shades ; 
and,  with  measured  tread,  and  thoughts  intent 
upon  the  coming  strife,  they  crushed,  unheeded, 
the  wild  flower  which  spread  its  simple  charms 
before  them,  and  burst  asunder  the  beautiful  gar- 
lands which  summer  had  woven  around  their  path. 
The  melody  of  nature  was  hushed  at  their  approach  ; 
the  birds  nestled  in  their  leafy  coverts ;  the  timid 
hare  bounded  before  their  steps,  and  the  squirrel 
looked  down  in  silence  from  his  airy  height,  as  they 
passed  on,  and  disturbed  the  solitude  of  the  peace- 
ful retreat. 

They  at  length  emerged  from  the  sheltering 
woods,  and  entered  an  extensive  plain,  which  had 
been  cleared  and  cultivated,  and,  in  the  midst  of 
which,  stood  the  farm-house,  already  mentioned. 
It  was  several  miles  from  the  fort ;  a  few  men  were 
stationed  there,  but  the  place  was  considered  so 
secure,  from  its  retired  situation,  that  tht^,  were 
generally  employed  in  the  labors  of  agriculture. 
La  Tour's  party  approached  almost  within  musket 
shot,  before  the  alarm  was  given,  and  the  defenders 
had  scarcely  time  to  throw  themselves  into  the 
house,  and  barricade  the  doors  and  windows.    The 


V, 


BIVALS  OP  AOADIA. 


137 


besiegers  commenced  a  violent  onset,  and  volley 
succeeded  volley,  with  a  rapidity  which  nothing 
could  withstand.  The  contest  was  too  unequal  to 
continue  long  ;  La  Tour  soon  entered  the  house  a 
conqueror,  secured  all  who  were  in  it  as  prisoners, 
and  took  possession  of  the  few  munitions  which  had 
been  stored  there.  He  then  ordered  the  building 
to  be  set  on  fire,  and  the  soldiers,  with  wanton 
cruelty,  killed  all  the  domestic  animals  which  were 
grazing  around  it.  Neither  party  sustained  any 
loss  ;  two  or  three  only  were  wounded,  and  those, 
with  the  prisoners,  were  sent  back,  under  a  sufficient 
guard,  to  the  boats  ;  the  remainder  turned  from  the 
scene  of  destruction  with  utter  indifference,  and 
again  proceeded  towards  the  fort. 

The  noontide  sun  was  intensely  hot,  and  they 
halted  a  few  ntoments  on  the  verge  of  an  extensive 
forest,  to  rest  in  its  cooling  shade,  and  allay  their 
tliirst  from  a  limpid  stream  which  gurgled  from  its 
green  recesses.  Scarcely  had  they  resumed  the 
line  of  march,  when  a  confused,  sound  burst  upon 
their  ears  ;  and  instantly,  the  heavy  roll  of  a  drum 
reverberated  through  the  woods,  and  a  party  rushed 
on  them,  from  its  protecting  shades,  with  overpow- 
ering force.  La  Tour,  with  a  courage  and  presence 
of  mind  which  never  deserted  him,  presented  an 
undaunted  front  to  the  foe,  and  urged  his  followers 
by  encouragement  and  commands,  to  stand  firm, 
and  defend  themselves  to  the  last  extremity.  A 
few  only  emulated  his  example;  the  rest,  seized 
12* 


*i 


138 


B1VAX8  or  ACiUIA. 


U 


f  i 


with  an  unaccountable  panic,  sought  refuge  in 
flight,  or  surrendered  passively  to  the  victors. 

La  Tour,  in  vain,  endeavoured  to  rally  them ; 
surrounded  by  superior  numbers,  and  their  retreat 
entirely  intercepted,  submission  or  destruction 
seemed  inevitable.  But  his  proud  spirit  could  ill 
brook  an  alternative  which  he  considered  so  dis' 
graceful ;  and,  left  to  sustain  the  conflict  alone,  he 
still  wielded  his  sword  with  a  boldness  and  dexte- 
rity, that  surprised  and  distanced  every  opponent. 
Yet  skill  and  valor  united  were  unavailing  against 
such  fearful  odds  ;  and  the  weapon  which  he  would 
never  have  voluntarily  relinquished,  was  at  length 
^vrested  from  his  grasp. 

A  smile  of  triumph  brightened  the  gloomy  fea- 
tures of  M.  d'Aulney,  as  he  met  the  eye  of  his 
proud  and  defeated  enemy  ;  but  La  Tour  returned 
it  by  a  glance  of  haughty  defiance,  which  fully 
expressed  the  bitterness  of  his  chafed  and  unsub- 
dued feelings.  He  then  turned  to  his  humbled  fol- 
lowers, and  surveyed  them  with  a  look  of  angry 
contempt,  beneath  which,  the  boldest  shrunk 
abashed. 

"  Cowards  !"  he  exclaimed,  yielding  to  his  indig- 
nation ;  "  fear  ye  to  meet  my  eye  ?  would  that  its 
lightnings  could  blast  ye,  perjured  and  recreant 
that  ye  are  !  ay,  look  upon  the  ground,  which  should 
have  drank  your  heart's  blood  before  it  witnessed 
your  disgrace ;  look  not  on  me.  whom  youj  have 


BITALS  OF  ACADIA. 


13£) 


betrayed — look  not  on  the  banner  of  your  country, 
Avliich  you  have  stained  by  this  day's  cowardice  !" 

A  low  murmur  rose  from  the  rebuked  and  sullen 
soldiers  ;  and  D'Aulney,  fearing  some  disturbance, 
commanded  silence,  and  ordered  his  people  to 
prepare  for  instant  march. 

"  For  you,  St.  Etienne,  lord  of  la  Tour,"  he  said. 
"  it  shall  be  my  care  to  provide  a  place  of  security, 
till  the  pleasure  of  our  lawful  sovereign  is  made 
known  concerning  you." 

"To  that  sovereign  I  willingly  appeal,"  replied 
La  Tour ;  "  and,  if  a  shadow  of  justice  lingers 
uround  his  throne,  the  rights  which  you  have 
presumed  to  arrogate  will  be  restored  to  me,  and 
my  authority  established  on  a  basis,  which  you 
will  not  venture  to  dispute." 

"  Let  the  writ  of  proscription  be  first  revoked," 
said  D'Aulney,  with  a  sneer ;  "  let  the  names  of 
rebel,  and  traitor,  be  blotted  from  your  escutcheon, 
before  you  appeal  to  that  justice,  or  reclaim  an 
authority  which  has  been  long  since  annulled." 

"  False,  and  mean-spirited  !"  exclaimed  La  Tour, 
scornfully  ;  "  you  stoop  to  insult  a  prisoner,  who  is 
powerless  in  your  hands,  but  from  whose  indignation 
you  would  cower,  like  the  guilty  thing  you  arc, 
had  I  liberty  and  ny  good  sword  to  revenge  your 
baseness  !  Go,  use  me  as  you  will,  use  me  as  you 
dare^  M.  d'Aulney,  but  remember  the  day  of  ven- 
geance may  ere  long  arrive." 

"  My  day  of  vengeance  has  arrived,"  returned 
D'Aulney,  and  his  eye  flashed  wit!i  rage;  "and 


u 


Hi) 


IttVALB   OF   ACADIA. 


yon  will  ruo  tlio  hour  in  wliicli  you  provoked  my 
slumbering  wrath." 

"  \  our  wrath  has  nrvrr  slumbered,"  replied  Lii 
Tour,  "  and  my  hatred  to  you- will  mingle  with  the 
last  throb  of  niy  existence.  Twke  an  evil  demon, 
you  have  followed  me  through  life  ;  you  blighted 
the  hopesof  my  youth, — the  interests  and  ambition 
of  my  manhood  have  been  thwarted  by  your  ma- 
chinations, and  I  have  now  no  reason  to  look  for 
mercy  at  your  hands ;  still  I  defy  your  malice,  and 
I  bid  you  triumph  at  your  peril." 

**  We  have  strong  holds  in  that  fort  which  you 
have  so  long  wished  to  possess,"  said  D'Aulncy, 
with  provoking  coolness ;  "  and  traitors,  who  arc 
lodged  there,  have  little  chance  of  escape." 

La  Tour  refrained  from  replying,  even  by  n 
glance  :  the  soldiers,  at  that  moment,  commenced 
their  march  ;  and  guarded,  with  ostentatious  care, 
he  walked  apart  from  the  other  prisoners  towards 
the  fort.  The  angry  aspect  of  his  countenance 
yielded  to  an  expression  of  calm  contempt,  and 
through  the  remainder  of  the  way  he  preserved  an 
unbroken  silence. 

Tn  the  mean  time,  Do  Valettc  had  strictly  obeyed 
the  instructions  of  La  Tour.  His  appearance  be- 
fore the  fort  evidently  excited  much  sensation 
there  ;  and  though  he  kept  at  a  prudent  distance, 
he  could  observe  the  garrison  in  motion,  and  ascer- 
tain from  their  various  evolutions,  that  they  were 
preparing  for  u  vigorous  defence.  He  ordered  his 
vessel  to  be  put  in  a  state  for  action,  and  waited 


ItlVALS   OP  ACAUIA. 


14V 


okcd  my 

plied  La 
with  the 
I  demon, 
blighted 
ambition 
your  ma- 
)  look  for 
rtlicc,  and 


ttly  obnye<l 
irancc  be- 
sensation 
^t  distance, 
and  asccr- 
ihey  were 
:)rdered  his 
land  waited 


iinpaliontly  to  hoc  the  standard  of  D'Aulney  sup- 
planted by  tlmt  of  Do  la  Tour.  Hut  his  ilhjsionH 
were  rlispeiled  by  the  return  of  n.  boat  with  the 
]>ri8oner.s,  taken  at  the  fiirni-house.  and  a  few  sol- 
diers who  had  escaped  by  flight  from  the  fate  of 
their  companions.  Vexed  and  mortified  by  a  result 
so  unexpected,  J)e  Vulette  hesitated  what  course  to 
pursue.  \ai  'J'our  had  not  thought  necessary  to 
provide  for  such  an  exigence,  as  he  n  .ver  admitted 
tl»e  possibility  of  falling  a  prisoner  into  the  hands 
of  D' Aulney.  His  lieutenant,  therefore,  determined 
to  sail  for  l*emaquid,  to  seek  assistance,  which 
would  enable  him,  at  least,  to  recover  the  liberty 
of  La  Tour,  lie  also  hoped  to  gain  some  inform- 
ation respecting  Stanhope,  whose  services  at  that 
crisis  were  particularly  desirable. 

M.  d'Aulney  had  returned  to  his  fort  uncxpect- 
tidly  on  the  morning  of  that  day  ;  and  the  approach 
of  La  Tour  was  betrayed  to  hun  by  a  boy,  who 
escaped  from  the  farm-house,  at  the  beginning  of 
the  skirmish.  Nothing  could  have  gratified  his 
revenge  more  completely,  than  to  obtain  possession 
of  the  person  of  his  rival  ;  and  this  long  desired 
object  was  thus  easily  attained,  at  a  moment  when 
least  expected. 

The  prejudices  of  a  superior  arc  readily  embraced 
by  those  under  his  authority  ;  and,  as  La  Tour 
approached  the  fort,  every  eye  glanced  t'iumphant- 
ly  on  him,  and  every  countenance  reflected,  in 
^omc  degree,  the  vindictive  feelings  of  the  com- 


142 


RIVALS  OF  ACADIA. 


HI 


mandcr.  But  he  endured  their  gaze  with  stem 
indifference,  and  his  step  was  as  firm,  and  his  bear- 
ing as  lofty,  as  if  he  entered  the  gates  a  conqueror. 
A  small  apartment,  attached  to  the  habitable  build- 
ings of  the  fort,  which  had  often  served  on  similar 
occasions,  was  prepared^  for  a  temporary  prison, 
until  his  final  destination  was  determined.  D'Aul- 
ney,  himself,  examined  this  apartment  with  the 
utmost  caution,  lest  any  aperture  should  be  unno- 
ticed, through  which  the  prisoner  might  effect  his 
escape.  La  Tour,  during  this  resecrch,  remained 
guarded  in  an  adjoining  passage,  and  through  the 
open  door,  he  perceived,  with  a  smile  of  scorn, 
what  indeed  seemed  the  superfluous  care,  which 
was  taken  to  provide  for  his  security.  The  soldiers 
waited  at  a  respectful  distance,  awed  by  the  cou- 
rage he  had  displayed,  and  the  anger  which  still 
tlashed  from  his  full  dark  eye. 

In  this  interval,  La  Tour's  attention  was  attracted 
by  the  sound  of  light  footsteps  advancing  along  the 
passage  ;  and  immediately  a  delicpte  female  figure 
passed  hastily  on  towa.  •  a  flight  of  stairs,  not  far 
from  the  spot  where  he  was  standing.  Her  motion^ 
were  evidently  confused  and  timid,  plainly  evincing 
that  she  had  unconsciously  entered  among  the 
soldiers ;  and  her  features  were  concealed  by  a 
veil,  which  she  drew  closely  around  them.  She 
flitted  rapidly  by  La  Tour,  but  at  a  little  distance 
paused,  in  a  situation  which  screened  her  from 
every  eye  but  his.    Throwing  back  her  veil,  she 


iirftMi  Wjirili-liriiiilllliJ  iiil''l{''ili1fi  , 


KIVALS   or   ACADIA. 


14^ 


:h  stern 
lis  bear- 
iqueror. 
Ic  build- 
1  similav 
r  prison, 
D'Aul- 
with  the 
be  unno- 
jffect  his 
remained 
rough  the 
of  scorn, 
re,  which 
le  soldiers 
r  the  cou- 
yhich  still 


looked  earnestly  at  him ;  a  deep  blusli  overspread 
her  face,  and  pressing  her  finger  on  her  lips,  in 
token  of  silence,  she  swiftly  descended  the  stairs. 

That  momentary  glance  subdued  every  stormy 
passion  of  his  soul ;  early  scenes  of  joy  and  sor- 
row rushed  on  his  remembrance,  and  clasping  his 
liands  across  his  brow,  he  stood,  for  a  time,  un- 
mindful of  all  around  him,  absorbed  by  his  excited 
thoughts.  But  the  voice  of  D'Aulney  again  sound- 
ed in  his  ears,  and  renewed  the  strife  of  bitter  feel- 
ings, which  had  been  so  briefly  calmed.  His  cheek 
glowed  with  deeper  resentment,  and  it  required  a 
powerful  effort  of  self-command  to  repress  the  in- 
vective that  trembled  on  his  lips,  but  which,  he  felt, 
it  would  be  more  than  useless  to  indulge.  He 
entered  his  prison,  therefore,  in  silence  ;  and,  with 
gloomy  immobility,  listened  to  the  heavy  sound  of 
the  bolts,  which  secured  the  door,  and  consigned 
him  to  the  dreariness  of  profound  solitude. 


l'f\ 


"^T'^  '•<--vTW*~iw.**ft«r^'* 


144 


KIVAIS   OF   ACADIA. 


I- 


f) 


'If 


(I 


i 


dZiLFTER   ZZZI. 


That  of  all  things  upon  the  earth,  he  hated 
Your  porson  most  :  that  he  would  pawn  his  fortunes 
To  hopeless  restitution,  so  he  might 
Be  called  your  vanquisher. 

Shakspeark. 


The  first  hours  of  misfortune  are  generally  the 
most  tedious ;  and  the  ni^ht  which  succeeded  the 
imprisonment  of  La  Tour  appeared  to  him  almost 
endless  in  duration.  A  small  .id  closely  grated 
window  sparingly  admitted  tho  light  and  air  of 
heaven  ;  and,  through  its  narrow  openings,  ho 
watched  the  last  beams  of  the  moon,  and  saw  the 
stars  twinkle  more  faintly  in  the  advancing  light 
of  morning,  before  he  sought  that  repose,  which 
entire  exhaustion  rendered  indispensable. 

He  was  aiouscd  at  a  late  hour  on  the  following 
morning,  from  feverish  slumber,  by  the  opening  M' 
his  door;  and,  starting  up,  he,  with  equal  surprise 
and  displeasure,  recognized  M.  d'Aulney  in  the 
intruder.  A  glance  of  angry  defiance  was  the  only 
salutation  which  he  deigned  to  give ;  but  it  was 
unnoticed  by  D'Aulney,  who  had  apparently  re- 
solved to  restrain  the  violence,  which  thcv  had 
mutually  indulged  on  the  preceding  day. 


•tunes 
K.SPEAUK- 

3nerally  the 
cceeded  the 
hiro  almost 
osely  grated 
•  and  air  of 
penings,   he 
and  saw  the 
ncing  V\ght 
pose,   which 

le. 

he  following 
e  openinji^  '^1 
ual  surprise 
Iney  in  the 
was  the  only 
but  it  was 
parently  rc- 
ch  they  had 

IV. 


/ 

SITAIS  OF  A0A9IA. 


k 


"  I  come  to  offer  you  freedom,  M.  de  la  Tour," 
he  said,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  "  and  on  terms 
which  the  most  prejudiced  could  not  but  consider 
lenient." 

"  Freedom  from  hfe,  then  !"  La  Tour  scornfully 
replied  ;  "  I  can  expect  no  other  liberty,  while  it  is 
in  your  power  to  hold  me  in  bondage." 

"  Beware  how  you  defy  my  power !"  replied 
D'Aulney ;  "  or  provoke  the  wrath  which  may  burst 
in  vengeance  on  your  head.  You  are  my  prisoner, 
De  la  Tour ;  and,  as  the  representative  of  royalty 
here,  the  command  of  life  or  death  is  entrusted  to 
my  discretion." 

"I  deny  that  command,"  said  La  Tour,  "and 
bid  you  exercise  it  at  your  peril.  Prove  to  me  the 
authority  which  constitutes  you  my  judge  ;  which 
gives  you  a  right  to  scrutinize  the  actions  of  a  com- 
peer ;  to  hold  in  duresse  the  person  of  a  free  and 
loyal  subject  of  our  king  ; — prove  this,  and  I  may 
submit  to  your  judgment,  I  may  crave  the  clemen- 
cy, which  I  now  despise — nay,  which  I  would  not 
stoop  to  receive  from  your  hands." 

"  You  speak  boldly,  for  a  rebel  and  a  traitor  1" 
said  D'Aulney,  contemptuously;  "for  one  whose 
oiRce  is  annulled,  and  whose  name  is  branded  with 
infamy  !" 

"  Come  you  hither  to  insult  me,  false-hearted  vil- 
lain .'"'  exclaimed  La  Tour,  passionately ;  "  prisoner 
and  defenceless,  though  I 
13 


H 


now  am,  you  may  yet 

I 

4 

i 

^ 

I 

I  i  > 


146 


RIVALS   OF  ACADIA. 


have  cause  to  repent  the  rashness  which  brings  you 
to  my  presence  !" 

"  Your  threats  are  idle,"  returned  D'Aulney  ;  "  1 
never  feared  you,  even  in  your  greatest  strength ; 
and  think  you,  that  I  can  now  be  intimidated  by 
your  words  ?" 

"  What  is  the  purport  of  this  interview  ?"  asked 
La  Tour,  impatiently  ;  '*  and  why  am  I  compelled 
to  endure  your  presence?  speak,  and  briefly,  if 
you  have  aught  to  ask  of  me ;  or  go,  and  leave 
me  to  the  solitude,  which  you  have  so  rudely  dis- 
turbed." 

"  I  spoke  to  you  of  freedom,"  replied  D'Aulney ; 
"  but  since  you  persist  in  believing  my  intentions 
evil,  it.  would  be  useless  to  name  the  terms  on  which 
I  offer  it." 

"  You  can  offer  no  terms,"  said  La  Tour,  "  which 
comport  with  the  honor  of  a  gentleman  and  a  sol- 
dier to  accept." 

"  Are  you  ignorant,"  asked  D'Aulney,  "  that  you 
are  proscribed,  that  an  order  is  issued  for  your  ar- 
rest, and  that  a  traitor's  doom  awaits  you,  in  your 
native  land  f^ 

"  It  is  a  calumny,  vile  as  your  own  base  heart," 
exclaimed  La  Tour  ;  "  and  so  help  tne,  heaven,  as 
I  shall  one  day  prove  its  falsehood." 

"  You  have  been  denounced  at  a  more  impartial 
tribunal  than  mine,"  said  D'Aulney,  deliberately 
unrolling  a  parchment  which  he  carried,  and  point- 
ing to  the  seal  of  France  ;  "  these  characters,"  he 


mVALS   QJf  AOADIA. 


i4r 


added,  "  are  traced  by  high  authority ;  and  need 
you  any  farther  proof,  that  your  honors  are  wrested 
from  you,  and  your  name  consigned  to  infamy  ?" 

"  Your  malice  has  invented  this,"  said  La  Tour, 
glancing  his  eye  indignantly  over  the  contents  of 
the  scroll ;  ^'but  even  this  shall  not  avail  you  ;  and, 
cunningly  as  you  have  woven  your  treacherous  web 
around  me,  I  shall  yet  escape  the  snare,  and  tri- 
umph over  all  your  machinations  !" 

"  It  is  vain  to  boast  of  deeds,  which  you  may 
never  be  at  liberty  to  perform,"  replied  D*Aulriey ; 
"  your  escape  from  this  prison  is  impossible,  and,  of 
course,  your  fate  is  entirely  at  my  disposal.  But, 
grossly  as  you  have, injured  me,  I  am  willing  to  re- 
concile past  differences ;  not  from  any  hope  of 
personal  advantage,  but  to  preserve  the  peace  of 
the  colony,  and  sustain  the  honor  of  the  govern- 


?j 


ment. 

"  That  mask  of  disinterestedness  and  patriotism," 
said  La  Tour,  scornfully,  "  is  well  assumed  ;  but, 
beshrew  me !  if  it  does  not  hide  some  dark  and 
selfish  purpose.  Reconcile  !"  he  added,  in  a  tone 
of  bitterness ;  "  that  word  can  never  pass  current 
with  us ;  my  hatred  to  you  is  so  strong,  so  deeply- 
rooted,  that  nothing  could  ever  compel  me  to  serve 
you,  even  if,  by  so  doing,  I  might  advance  my  own 
fortunes  to  the  height  of  princely  grandeur." 

"  Your  choice  is  too  limited  to  admit  of  dainty 
scruples,"  said  D'Aulney,  tauntingly;  "but,  you 
may  be  induced  to  grant  from  necessity,  what  you 


m 


!.•«• 


^2i.  I*- jfe„ 


^/' 


148 


BITALS   OX-  ACADIA. 


>1 


would  refuse  as  a  favor.  You  must  be  convinced, 
that  your  title  and  authority  in  Acadia  are  now 
abolished,  and  you  have  every  reason  to  apprehend 
the  severity  of  the  law,  if  you  are  returned  a  pri- 
soner to  France.  I  offer  you  immediate  liberty, 
with  sufficient  privileges  to  render  you  indepen- 
dent, on  condition  that  you  will  make  a  legal  trans- 
fer of  your  late  government  to  me,  and  thus  ami- 
cably reunite  the  colony,  which  was  so  unhappily 
divided  on  the  death  of  Razilly.  Put  your  signa- 
ture to  this  paper,  and  you  are  that  moment  free." 

"  Now,  by  the  holy  rood !"  said  La  Tour,  burst- 
ing into  a  laugh  of  scorn  ;  "  but  that  I  think  you 
are  jesting  with  me,  I  would  trample  you  beneath 
my  feet,  as  I  do  this;"  and  snatching  the  oifered 
paper  from  his  hand,  he  tore  it  in  pieces,  and 
stamped  violently  on  the  scattered  fragments. 

"  You  reject  my  proposals,  then  f"  asked  D'Aul- 
ney,  pale  with  angry  emotions. 

"  Dare  you  ask  me,  again,  to  accept  them  ?"  re- 
turned La  Tour ,  "  think  you,  I  would  sanction 
the  slanders  you  have  fabricated,  by  such  a  surren- 
der of  my  rights  ?  that  I  would  thus  bring  re- 
proach upon  my  name,  and  bequeath  poverty  and 
disgrace  to  my  children  ?" 

"  It  is  well,"  replied  D'Aulney  ;  "  and  the  conse- 
quences of  your  folly  must  fall  on  your  own  head  j 
but,  when  too  late,  you  may  repent  the  perverse- 
ness  which  is  driving  you  to  destruction." 


RIVALS   07  ACADIA. 


149 


"  Were  the  worst  fate  which  your  malevolence 
could  devise,  at  this  moment  before  me,"  said  La 
Tour,  "  my  resolution  would  remain  unalterable. 
I  am  not  so  poor  in  spirit,  as  to  shrink  before  the 
blast  of  adversity  ;  nor  am  I  yet  destitute  of  fol- 
lowers, who  will  fight  for  my  rescue,  or  bravely 
avenge  my  fall." 

"  We  shall  soon  find  other  employment  for  them," 
D'Aulney  coolly  replied ;  "  this  fortunate  expedi- 
tion of  yours  has  scattered  your  vaunted  force,  and 
left  your  fort  exposed  to  assaults,  which  it  is  too  de- 
fenceless to  repel." 

"  Make  the  experiment,"  said  La  Tour,  proudly ; 
•'and  again  you  may  return,  vanquished  by  a  wo- 
man's prowess.  Try  the  valor  of  men,  who  burn 
to  redress  their  master's  wrongs;  and,  if  you  dare, 
once  more  encounter  the  dauntless  courage  of  a 
wife,  anxious  for  her  husband's  safety,  and  tena- 
cious of  her  husband's  honor." 

"  You  are  fortunate,"  said  D'Aulney,  sarcastical- 
ly, "  to  possess  so  brave  a  representative ;  I  trust, 
it  has  long  since  reconciled  you  to  the  chance, 
which  prevented  your  alliance  with  one  less  valiant, 
— one,  too  gentle  to  share  the  fortunes  of  such  a 
bold  adventurer." 

"  Touch  not  upon  that  theme,"  said  La  Tour, 
starting  with  almost  frenzied  violence  ;  "  time  nay 
wear  away  every  other  remembrance,  but  the  treach- 
ery of  a  friend  must  remain  indelible  and  unfor- 
given." 

•'   III      inM   'p 


M 


m 


;  If ' 


13' 


Af- 


Iv*      ^ 


-♦.•S**'-^^'''' 


150 


BITALS   OT   ACADIA. 


"Solitude,  perchance,  may  calm   your  moody 
feelings,  and  I  will  leave  you  to  its  soothing  influ- 
ence ;"  said  D'Aulney,  in  a  tone  of  assumed  indif- 
ference, which  was  contradicted  by  the  angry  flash 
that  darted  from  his  eye.     He  laid  his  hand  on  the 
door,  while  he  spoke ;  La  Tour  returned  no  an- 
swer, and  the  next  moment  he  was  left  to  his  own 
reflections ;  and,  bitter  as  they  were,  he  felt  that 
to  be  again  alone,  was  a  state  of  comparative  hap- 
piness.    But,  whatever  he  endured,  not  a  shadow 
of  fear  or   apprehension   obtruded  on   his  mind. 
The  shame  of  defeat,  perhaps,  most  deeply  goaded 
him  ;  and  his  interview  with  D'Aulney  had  awak- 
ened every  dark  and  stormy  passion  in  his  breast. 
Confinement  was,  indeed,  irksome  to  his  active  spi- 
rit; but  he  would  not  admit  the  possibility  of  its 
long  continuance;  and  he  had  no  doubt,  that  the 
exertions  of  De  Valette  would  soon  restore  him  to 
freedom.     He  rightly  believed,  that  both  the  pride 
and  affection  of  his  nephew  would  stimulate  him 
to  attempt  it,  and  he  hoped  his  efforts  would  be  aid- 
ed by  Stanhope,  if  he  had  been  so  fortunate  as  to 
escape  the  storm. 

Stanhope,  however,  was,  as  yet,  ignorant  of  these 
events  ;  and  the  morning  light,  which  stole  so  hea- 
vily through  the  grated  window  of  La  Tour's  pii- 
gon-room,  shone  brightly  on  the  waters  of  the  Bay. 
where  his  vessel  had  anchored  through  the  night. 
He  was  in  motion  at  an  early  hour,  anxious  to  ob- 
tain information  of  La  Tour,  though  totally  at  a 
loss  in  what  direction  to  seek  for  him.     In  the 


-4W. 


.*s#^ 


_^*,^6i.-,X      <J^- 


RfVAlS'O*  ACADIA. 


151 


\ni(lst  of  tliis  perplexity,  he  observed  a  boat,  at 
some  distaiioe,  slowly  approaching  the  eastern  ex- 
tremity of  Mount  Desert  island.  Stanhope  waited 
impatiently  to  hail  the  person  who  occupied  it, 
believing  he  mi^ht  receive  some  intelligence  from 
him  respecting  La  Tour.  But,  instead  of  making 
the  nearest  point  of  land,  he  suddenly  tacked  his 
boat,  and  bore  oif  from  the  shore,  apparently  in- 
tending to  double  a  narrow  headland,  which  pro- 
jected into  the  bay. 

The  little  skiff  moved  slowly  on  its  course,  as  if 
guided  by  an  idle  or  unskilful  hand,  and  the  oars 
were  dipped  so  lightly  and  leisurely,  that  they 
scarce  dimpled  the  waves,  or  moved  the  boat  be- 
yond the  natural  motion  of  the  tide.  The  earliest 
blush  of  morn  was  spreading  along  the  eastern  sky, 
and  faintly  tinged  the  surface  of  the  deep  and,  as 
Arthur  watched  the  progress  of  the  boat,  his  atten- 
tion was  arrested  by  the  peculiar  appearance  of  the 
occupant,  who,  on  drawing  near  the  headland, 
raised  himself  from  a  reclining  posture,  and  stood 
erect,  leaning,  with  one  hand,  on  an  upright  oar, 
while  he  employed  the  other  in  lightly  steering  the 
boat.  His  tall  figure,  habited  in  the  dark  garments 
of  a  Romish  priest,  which  floated  loosely  on  the  air 
gave  him,  as  he  moved  alone  upon  the  solitary  deep, 
a  wild,  and  almost  supernatural  appearance.  His 
face  was  continually  turned  towards  the  shore,  and 
at  times  he  bowed  his  head,  and  folded  his  hands 
Mcross  his  breast,  as  if  absorbed  by  mental  devo- 


i 


•:^l  ^    I 


152 


RIVALS  OF   ACADIA. 


'I 


i! 


Sfv.J 


tion,  or  engaged  in  some  outward  service  of  his 
religion. 

Arthur  could  not  mistake  the  person  of  father 
Gilbert  j  nor  was  he  greatly  surprised  at  seeing 
him  there,  as  he  had  heard  much  of  his  wandering 
course  of  life,  .ind  knew  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
extending  his  pastoral  y'  'its  to  the  remotest  cabins 
of  his  flock.  Stanhope  thought  it  possible  he  might 
direct  him  to  La  Tour;  and  he  ordered  a  boat  to 
be  got  ready  immediately,  in  the  hope  of  overtak- 
ing him.  But  by  that  time,  the  priest  had  disap- 
peared behind  the  projecting  land,  and  probably 
proceeded  on  his  vcvage  with  more  expedition ; 
for  when  Stanhope  df.nbled  the  point,  he  was  no 
longer  visible.  UnvviJHng  to  give  up  the  pursuit, 
Arthur  continued  on,  passing  through  the  channel 
between  Craneberry  Islands  and  Mount  Desert,  and 
entered  a  gulf  which  ran  in  on  the  south  side  of  the 
latter.  Almost  at  the  entrance,  he  discovered  a 
small  boat,  like  the  one  in  question,  and  from  which 
he  had  no  doubt  fatiii^r  Gilbert  had  just  landed. 

Leaving  the  boatmen  to  vait  his  return.  Stan- 
hope sprang  on  shore  wiihout  hesit'ition,  and  rapid- 
ly followed  the  windings  of  i  narrow  path,  though 
ignorant  where  it  led,  and  doubtful  if  it  were  trod- 
den by  wild  animals,  or  by  the  foot  of  man.  Short- 
ly, the  wood,  which  he  traversed,  terminated  in  an 
open  plain,  slightly  elevated  above  the  waters  of 
the  bay,  that  still  murmured  on  his  ear,  and  glanc- 
ed brightly  through  the  foliage  of  some  trees  which 


-ife- 


UITIKS   OT   ACADIA. 


153 


e  of  his 

of  father 
it  seeing 
andering 
3  habit  of 
;st  cabins 
I  he  might 
a  boat  to 
f  overtak- 
lad  disap- 
probably 
cpedition ; 
he  was  no 
le  pursuit, 
le  channel 
)esert,  and 
side  of  the 
icovered  a 
rem  which 
anded. 
urn,  Stan- 
and  rapid- 
h,  though 
[were  trod- 
n.    Short- 
ted  in  an 
waters  ol 
and  glanc- 
ees  which 


fringed  the  shore.  The  spot  was  rich  in  verdure, 
'retaining  marks  of  former  cultivation,  and  the  trees, 
which  rose  to  a  noble  height,  were  evidently  a  suc- 
cession from  the  earlier  monarchs  of  the  forest. 
Some  Jesuit  missionaries  had  taken  possession  of 
the  place  at  an  early  period,  planted  a  cross  there, 
and  called  it  by  the  name  of  St.  Saviour.  But 
their  settlement  was  soon  broken  up  by  a  party  of 
English  from  Virginia,  who  claimed  it  for  their  own 
king,  on  the  plea  of  first  discovery.  It  was  long 
after  neglected  by  both  nations,  and  the  improve- 
ments, which  iiad  been  commenced,  were  entirely 
neglected. 

Stanhope's  attention  was  soon  arrested  by  the 
object  of  his  search.  In  the  midst  of  the  plain  still 
lay  the  cross,  which  the  English  had  overthrown  ; 
and,  close  beside  it,  father  Gilbert  was  kneeling,  as 
motionless,  as  if  life  had  ceased  to  animate  him. 
His  eyes  were  fastened  on  a  crucifix,  and  his  pale 
and  haggard  countenance  wore  the  traces  of  that 
mental  anguish,  which  seemed  forever  to  pursue 
him.  His  lips  were  firmly  closed,  and  every  limb 
and  feature  a])peared  so  rigid,  that  Arthur  could 
scarcely  r^prl  the  dreadful  apprehension,  that  death 
had  seized  his  victim  alone  in  that  solitary  spot. 
He  approached  him,  and  was  inexpressibly  relieved 
to  perceive  him  start  at  the  sound  of  his  steps,  and 
look  round,  though  with  a  vacant  air,  like  one  sud-' 
(lenly  roused  from  deep  and  heavy  sleep. 


ll 


134 


BIVIXS  07  AOADIA. 


"  Pardon  me,  if  I  intrude,  father,"  said  Stanhope ; 
"  but  I  feared  you  were  ill,  and  came  to  ask  if  I 
could  serve  you." 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  demanded  the  priest,  wildly, 
and  springing  from  his  knees ;  "  who  are  you,  that 
seek  me  here, — here,  in  this  spot,  consecrated  to 
remorse  and  sorrow  ?" 

"  It  is  but  a  few  hours  since  I  parted  from  you," 
returned  Stanhope ;  "  and  had  I  known  you  pur- 
posed coming  hither,  I  would  not  willingly  have 
left  you  to  cross  the  waves  alone,  in  that  frail 
boat." 

"  I  know  you  now,  young  man,"  replied  the 
priest,  the  unnatural  excitement  of  his  countenance 
yielding  to  its  usual  calm  ;  "  and  I  thank  you  for 
your  care ;  but  solitude  and  gloom  are  most  conge- 
nial to  me,  and  I  endure  the  fellowship  of  men, 
only  in  compliance  with  the  duties  of  my  holy  of- 
fice. Leave  me,"  he  added ;  "  here,  at  least,  I 
would  be  alone." 

"  This  is  a  dreary  place,  father" — 

"  Dreary  !"  interrupted  the  priest ;  "  and  it  is 
therefore  that  I  seek  it ;  twenty  years  have  passed 
away,  since  I  first  found  refuge  in  its  shades,  from 
the  vanities  of  a  world  which  I  had  too  long  trust- 
ed ;  and  yearly  on  this  day,  the  solitary  waste  is 
witness  to  my  remorse  and  penance.  Be  warned 
by  this,  my  son  ;  and,  in  thy  youth,  avoid  the  crimes 
and  follies  which  lead  to  an  old  age  of  sorrow," 


tit 


-j#Wa.__^  ■^<!4ii(iir>^»^'v 


BIVAX.S  OF  ACADIA. 


155 


"True  repentance  may  obliterate  every  sin," 
said  Stanhope ;  "  and  why  should  you  despair  of 
mercy,  or  even  of  earthly  happiness  ?" 

"  Happiness  !"  repeated  the  priest ;  "  name  it 
not  to  one  whose  headstrong  passions  blasted  every 
cherished  joy,  and  threw  their  withering  influence 
on  all  who  loved  and  trusted  in  him ;  mock  me 
not  with  that  delusive  hope,  which  only  lives  in  the 
imagination  of  youth  and  inexperience.  Again  I 
bid  you  leave  me ;  this  day  is  consecrated  to  active 
duty,  and  I  would  fortify  my  mind  to  meet  its  diffi- 
«ulties." 

"  Pardon  me,  that  I  trouble  you  with  one  inqui- 
ry," said  Stanhope ;  "  have  you  heard  aught  of 
De  la  Tour  r 

"  He  is  a  prisoner,"  returned  the  priest ;  "  and  if 
you  would  learn  more  concerning  him,  repair,  with- 
out delay,  to  Pemaquid,  where  his  lieutenant  waits 
your  arrival." 

Father  Gilbert  turned  away,  as  he  finished  speak- 
ing ;  and  Stanhope  retraced  his  steps  to  the  boat, 
musing  with  deep  interest  on  the  intelligence  he 
had  received.  He  rowed  rapidly  back  to  his  ves- 
sel ;  and,  weighing  anchor,  ailed  for  the  bay  of 
Pemaquid,  impatiei  ♦.  to  rejoin  D.e  Valette,  and 
learn  the  particulars  of  La  Tour's  capture. 


J'  . 


i 


i, 


'^im 

^li^ 

'J 

JIHK 

t'l 

1  l^^H 

1. 

1 

\m 

W  •! 


«( 


156 


RIVALS  OF  ACADIA. 


OKAVTHm  ZZV« 


f  I 


I 

* 


%■) 


The  midnight  pass'd — and  to  the  massy  door, 

A  lif^lit  step  came — it  paused — it  inoved  once  more  ; 

Slow  turns  the  grating  bolt  and  sullen  key. 

Lord  Byroit. 


La  Tour  endured  the  first  days  of  confinemenC 
with  more  patience  than  could  have  been  expected 
from  his  irascible  disposition  ;  his  mind  was  conti- 
nually excited  by  hopes  of  speedy  release,  and 
plans  of  future  vengeance.  D'Aulney's  visit  to  him 
was  not  repeated,  and  his  solitude  remained  un- 
broken, except  by  the  person  who  brought  him 
food,  and  who  generally  performed  his  office  in 
perfect  silence.  But  the  third  day  passed  more 
heavily  away ;  he  listened  to  every  sound  from 
without  his  prison,  and  as  none  reached  him,  which 
announced  approaching  succor,  he  could  not  re- 
press an  audible  expi  jssion  of  anger  and  disappoint- 
ment, at  his  nephew's  tardiness.  A  thousand  plans 
of  escape  were  formed,  and  instantly  rejected,  as 
■visionary  and  impracticable.  He  too  well  knew 
the  severe  and  cautious  temper  of  D'Aulney,  to 
suppose  he  would  leave  any  avenue  unguarded : 


1 


')  , 


RIVALS  OF  ACADIA. 


157 


und,  of  course,  an  attempt  of  the  kind  could  only 
end  in  defeat,  and  perhaps  a  restriction  of  the  few 
privileges  he  then  enjoyed.  A  sentinel  watched 
continually  at  the  outside  of  his  door ;  others  were 
stationed  near  enough  to  lend  assistance  on  a  word 
of  alarm  ;  and  his  window,  even  if  the  bars  could 
be  forced,  was  rendered  secure  by  the  vigilance  of 
a  soldier  placed  beneath  to  protect  it.  His  own 
strength  and  address  were  tiierefore  unavailing ; 
the  conviction  vexed  and  mortified  hiiii,  and  he 
paced  his  apartment  with  rapid  steps,  till  his  ha- 
rassed feelings  were  wrought  up  to  the  highest 
pitch    f  irritability. 

Daylight  disappeared,  and  the  evening  advanced 
ill  gloom  and  darkness ;  not  a  star  shone  in  the 
lieavens,  and  the  moon  vainly  struggled  with  the 
clouds  which  overshadowed  her.  A  hollow  blast, 
at  intervals,  swept  across  the  grated  window, 
then  murmured  into  total  silence  ;  the  waves  rolled 
sullenly  below,  and  occasionally  the  measured 
(lash  of  oars  from  some  passing  boat  was  mingled 
with  their  melancholy  cadence.  La  Tour's  medi- 
tations were  broken  by  the  sentinel  entering  with 
a  light ;  and  as  he  placed  it  on  a  wooden  stand,  he 
lingered  a  moment,  and  regarded  the  prisoner  with 
peculiar  attention.  He,  however,  took  no  notice 
of  it,  except  to  avert  his  face  more  entirely  from, 
what  he  considered,  a  gaze  of  impertinent  curiosity. 
The  soldier,  as  he  rc-opened  the  door,  again  turned, 
incl  socmed  on  the  point  of  speaking  ;  but  La  Tom 


fj 


: 


n/ 


158 


BITALS   OF  ACADIA. 


\\ 


i'i 


could  endure  no  intrusion,  and  a  glance  of  angry 
reproof  from  his  eye,  induced  a  precipitate  retreat. 
He  almost  instantly  repented  this  vehemence  ;  for 
that  parting  look  was  familiar  to  him,  and  possibly 
he  might  have  received  some  desirable  information. 

But  it  was  too  late  to  recall  what  he  had  done  ; 
and  La  Tour  again  sunk  into  a  train  of  reflections, 
though  of  a  more  tranquil  nature  than  those  which 
before  agitated  him.  Recent  occurrences  had  re- 
vived the  recollections  of  earlier  years ;  and  he 
looked  back,  with  softened  feelings,  on  those  peace- 
ful scenes,  which  he  had  left  in  youth  to  buflet  with 
the  storms  of  life,  and  the  still  fiercer  storms  of 
passion.  His  thoughts  were,  at  length,  exclusively 
occupied  with  the  appearance  of  the  female  whom 
he  so  unexpectedly  encountered  on  the  first  even- 
ing of  his  imprisonment,  and  whose  features  he  had 
instantly  identified  with  an  image  once  most  dear 
to  him ;  but  which  had,  long  since,  been  absorbed 
in  the  pursuits  of  interest,  and  the  struggles  of 
ambition.  The  time  had  indeed  gone  by,  when 
associations,  blended  v'th  that  image,  could  deeply 
agitate  him  ;  and,  connected  as  th^<!y.  were,  with  his 
aversion  to  D'Aulney,  they  tended  to  excite  emo- 
tions of  anger  rather  than  of  tenderness. 

But,  whatever  was  the  nature  of  his  feelings, 
they  were  shortly  diverted  to  another  channel  by  a 
low  sound  from  without  the  door,  which  announced 
the  cautious  withdrawing  of  its  bolts.  The  next 
instant  it  was  opened  by  the  guard  wJio  had  before 


'-S 


RIVALS   OF  ACADIA. 


159 


entered  ;  and  La  Tour,  surprised  at  his  appearing 
so  unseasonably, — for  it  was  afler  midnight — was 
about  to  question  him,  when  he  pointed  signifi- 
cantly to  the  door,  and  again  hastily  retired. 

"  Antoine !"  exclaimed  La  Tour,  suddenly  recog- 
nizing in  him  a  soldier  of  his  own,  who,  on  some 
former  occasion,  had  been  taken  prisoner  by  D'Aul- 
ncy,  and  voluntarily  remained  in  his  service.  The 
call  was  unanswered  ;  but  presently  the  door  again 
opened,  and  a  figure  entered,  dressed  in  priestly 
guiso,  with  a  cowl  drawn  closely  over  his  face. 
La  Tour,  at  first,  thought  only  of  father  Gilbert ; 
and,  with  undefined  expectation,  rose  to  meet  him'j 
but  another  glance  showed,  that  this  person  was 
low  in  stature,  and  altogether  different  in  ap- 
pearance from  the  monk.  He  retreated,  with  a 
sensation  of  keen  disappointment ;  and  believing 
that  he  saw  before  him  some  emissary  from  D'Aul- 
ney,  he  asked,  impatiently, 

"  Who  are  you,  that  steal  in  upon  my  solitude 
at  this  untimely  hour  ?  that  garb  is  your  protection, 
or  you  might  have  reason  to  repent  this  rash  and 
unwelcome  intrusion !" 

The  object  of  this  interrogation  and  menace 
seemed  to  shrink  from  the  searching  gaze  of  La 
Tour ;  and,  witliout  returning  a  word  in  reply, 
covered  iiis  face  with  both  hands,  as  if  still  more 
eftectually  to  conceal  his  features. 

"  What  trick  of  priestcraft  is  this  ?"  demanded 
La  Tour,  angrily ;  "  is  it  not  enough,  that  I  am 


i 


Ml 


t5 


'Mf- 


.    * 


I  GO 


niYALS   or   ACAOIA. 


Ld 


Hi 


1 

'i 


held  in  duresse  by  a  villain's  power,  but  must  1  be 
denied,  even  the  poor  privilege  of  bearing  my  con- 
finement unmolested  ?  What,  silent  yet !"  he  added, 
in  atone  of  sarcasm  ;  "  methinks,  thou  art  a  novice 
in  thy  cunning  trade,  or  thou  wouldst  not  be  so 
chary  of  thy  ghostly  counsel,  or  so  slow  to  shrive 
the  conscience  of  a  luckless  prisoner!" 

"  St.  Etienne  !"  replied  a  voice,  which  thrilled 
his  car,  in  well-remembered  accents ;  and,  at  the 
same  moment,  a  trembling  hand  removed  the  cowl 
which  covered  a  face  glowing  with  confusion,  and 
confined  the  light  ringlets,  that  again  fell  profusely 
around  the  neck  and  brow. 

"  Adelc  !"  exclaimed  La  Tour,  springing  towards 
her ;  then  suddenly  retreating  to  the  utmost  limits 
of  the  room,  while  every  nerve  shook  with  powerful 
emotion.  He  closed  his  eyes,  as  if  fearing  to  look 
upon  a  face  that  he  had  last  seen  in  the  brightness 
of  his  hopes  ;  and  which  twelve  years  had  left 
unchanged,  except  to  mature  the  loveliness  of  ear- 
liest youth  into  more  womanly  beauty  and  expres- 
sion, and  to  deepen  the  pensiveness,  that  always 
marked  it,  into  a  shade  of  habitual  melancholy. 

"  Adele,  are  you  too  leagued  against  me .'"'  re- 
sumed La  Tour,  with  recovered  firmness,  and  look- 
ing steuidstly  on  her  j  "  have  you  entered  into  the 
secret  counsels  of  my  foe  ?  and  are  you  sent  hither 
to  torture  me  with  your  presence  ?  to  remind  me, 
by  it,  of  past,  but  never  to  be  forgotten,  injuries — 
of  the  worse  than  infernal  malice,  with  which  he 


,  » 


K 


BIVAL3   OV  ACADIA. 


ICl 


has  ever  pursued  me,  and  for  which,  I  exult  in  the 
hope  of  one  day  calling  him  to  a  deadly  reckon'- 


iiig 


f" 


"Speak  you  thus  of  my  husband?"  she  asked,  in 
an  accent  of  reproof ;  "and  think  you  such  lan- 
guage is  meet  to  be  addressed  to  the  ear  of  a 
wife  ?" 

"  Aye,  of  your  husband,  lady,"  said  La  Tour, 
yielding  to  his  chafed  and  bitter  feelings  ;  "  he  was 
once  my  friend,  too ;  the  friend  who  won  my  confi- 
dence, only  to  abuse  it,  who  basely  calumniated 
me,  in  absence,  who  treacherously  stole  from  mc 
the  dearest  treasure  of  my  heart.  Adele,"  he  con- 
tinued more  calmly,  "I  do  not  love  you  now; 
that  youthful  passion,  which  was  once  the  sun  of 
my  existence,  has  lost  its  strength  in  other  ties, 
and  sterner  duties ;  but,  can  I  meet  your  eye  again, 
and  not  recall  the  perfidy^  which  drove  me  forth, 
from  friends  and  country,  an  adventurer  in  tho 
pathless  wilderness?  can  I  look  upon  your  face, 
and  not  curse  the  wretch,  who  won  from  me  its 
smiles,  who  burst  our  love  asunder,  in  all  its  pu- 
rity and  fervor,  while  yet  unruffled  by  one  shade 
of  doubt,  one  fear  of  disappointment  ?" 

"  La  Tour,"  said  Mad.  d'Aulney,  striving  to  con- 
ceal her  emotion)  "  why  all  this  bitf*  invective  ? 
now,  indeed,  most  vain  and  useless !  why  wound 
my  ear,  by  accusations  which  /surely  do  not  me- 
rit, and  which  is  a  most  ungrateful  theme,  when 
uttered  against  one  whom  I  am  bound,  by  every 

14* 


I 


A 


n 

i  \ 

lii 


I'f, 


I 


.'1 


i^■ 


-1^    ....  41 


\ 


(f 


!; 


\ 


162 


RIVALS    v^T   ACADIA. 


tie  of  duty  and  interest,  to  respect !  If  you  believe 
me  innocent" — 

"I  do  believe  yc»u  are  most  innocent!"  inter- 
rupted La  Tour,  impetuously  ;  "  yours  was  a  heart 
t  JO  guileless  to  deceive,  too  firm  in  virtuous  prin- 
ciple to  be  sullied,  even  by  a  union  with  the  vicious 
and  depraved.  No,  Adele,  I  have  never  cherished 
one  feeling  of  resentment  towards  you ;  you,  like 
myself,  was  the  victim  of  that  baseness,  which  in- 
vented a  tale  of  falsehood  to  deceive  you,  of  that 
meanness,  which  flattered  your  father's  ambitious 
hopes,  by  a  boast  of  rank  and  wealth  ;  while  my 
only  offer  was  a  sincere  heart,  my  only  wealth, 
an  untarnished  name,  and  a  sword,  which  I  hoped 
would  one  day  gather  me  renown,  in  the  field  of 
honor." 

"  Enough  of  this,"  said  the  lady,  exerting  all  her 
firmness ;  "  it  is  unwise  to  recall  the  past,  nor  is 
this  a  fitting  time  to  indulge  in  reminiscences  of 
pain  or  pleasure ;  the  night  is  fleeting  fast,  and 
every  moment  of  delay  is  attended  with  danger. 

"  What  mean  you  f"  asked  La  Tour,  a  sudden 
hope  of  release  darting  through  his  mind;  '</feai 
no  danger;  but  you  may  well  dread  a  tyrant'? 
wrath,  should  you  be  seen  hovering  around  a  pri- 
son, which  he  would  be  loath  to  cheer  with  one 
ray  of  brightness." 

"  I  must  first  see  you  depart,"  she  replied ;  "  and 
then,  I  trust,  the  good  saints  will  guide  me  safely 
b&ck  to  the  couch  of  my  sick  infant,  from  which  J 


k 


niVALS   OP  ACADIA. 


1G3 


stole,  when  every  eye  was  closed  in  sleep,  to  at- 
tempt your  liberation." 

"  My  liberation !"  said  La  Tour,  in  surprise  ; 
"  may  heaven  bless  you  for  the  kind  thought,  Ade- 
le  ;  but  you  deceive  yourself,  if  you  admit  the  pos- 
sibility of  effecting  it." 

"  You  know  not  my  resources,"  she  answered, 
with  a  smile  ;  "  but  listen  to  my  plan,  and  you  will 
no  longer  remain  incredulous  ;  I  am  persuaded  the 
chance  of  success  is  much  greater  than  the  danger 
of  discovery,  and  unless  we  do  succeed,  I  fear  you 
will  have  much,  and  long  to  suffer." 

"  There  is  no  chance  which  I  would  not  hazard," 
said  La  Tour,  "  to  free  myself  from  this  hateful  pri- 
son, which  is  more  intolerable  to  me  than  the  most 
liopeless  dungeon  ever  invented  by  despotic  jea- 
lousy. Yet  I  vould  endure  any  sufferings,  rather 
than  involve  yc  ^  in  difficulty,  or  for  an  instant  ex- 
pose you  to  the  suspicion  of  one,  too  unrelenting, 
1  well  know,  to  extend  forgiveness,  even  to  those 
who  have  the  strongest  claims  on  his  tenderness." 

"  Passion  and  prejudice  render  you  unjust,"  said 
Mad.  d'Aulney ;  "  but  this  hour  and  place  are  too 
dangerous  to  authorize  idle  scruples,  and  what  is  to 
be  done  can  admit  of  no  delay.  Yet  I  will  first 
remove  your  apprehensions  on  my  account,  by  as- 
suring you,  that  my  husband  thinks  me  ignorant  of 
your  situation,  and,  of  course,  my  interference  in 
your  escape  cannot  be  suspected."  She  blushed 
deeply  as  she  added,  "from  whatever  cause,  he 


'%" 


1G4 


RIVALS   OF   ACADIA. 


\ 


I 


»».J 


has  carefully  concealed  your  imprisonment  from 
me,  and  induced  nie  to  believe,  that  a  lieutenant, 
only,  led  on  your  people  to  tho  engagement  witii 
him,  and  that  he  was  the  present  occupant  of  this 
apartment.  I  need  not  add,  that  the  transient 
glimpse  I  accidentally  obtained  of  you,  undeceived 
me,  and  that  I  have  confined  this  discovery  entirely 
to  my  own  breast." 

"  Dastard !"  exclaimed  La  Tour,  indignantly ; 
'*  this  jealous  care  accords  well  with  the  baseness 
of  his  heart ;  and  I  wonder  not  that  he  fears  to  lose 
the  affection  which  was  so  unjustly  gained,  if,  in- 
deed, it  were  ever  truly  his." 

"  Must  I  again  ask  you.  La  Tour,"  she  said,  with 
a  displeased  air,  "  to  refrain  from  these  invectives, 
which  I  may  not,  cannot  listen  to,  and  which  ren- 
der my  attempt  to  serve  you,  almost  criminal  .-*" 

"  Forgive  me  this  once  only,  madam,"  said  La 
Tour,  **and  I  will  endeavor  not  to  offend  again. 
And  now,  will  you  have  the  goodness  to  impart 
your  plan  to  me  ;  and,  if  you  are  excluded  from 
blame  and  danger,  how  shall  I  bless  the  generous 
courage  which  prompted  you  to  appear  in  my  be- 
half!" 

"  My  confessor  has  been  ill  for  several  days," 
said  Mad.  d'Aulney ;  "  and,  during  his  confine- 
ment, two  missionary  priests,  attached  to  the  set- 
tlement, have  frequently  attended  him,  and  been 
permitted  to  pass  the  gates  without  questioning, 
whenever  they  chose.    Early  this-  morning,  I  en- 


'^■M>... 


m,. 


—    — ...-?•••.-««.••»■ 


-/■' 


RIVALS   OF   ACADIA. 


1G5 


countered  a  priest,  of  very  peculiar  appearance, 
whose  person  was  entirely  unknown  to  me  ;  he  was 
going  to  the  sick  man's  apartment,  and,  I  have 
since  learned,  supplied  the  place  of  one  who  usu- 
ally attended,  but  had  unexpectedly  been  called 
away.  There  was  something  in  his  lall  figure,  and 
the  expression  of  his  pale  and  melancholy  features, 
which  arrested  my  attention  ;  I  closely  remarked 
liim,  and  perceived  that  he  looked  round  inquisi- 
tively, though  he  wore  an  air  of  calm  abstraction, 
which  would  scarcely  have  been  suspected  by  an 
indifferent  observer." 

"  It  must  have  been  father  Gilbert,"  said  La 
Tour;  "and,  if  he  is  concerned,  I  would  place  the 
utmost  confidence  in  his  prudence  and  fidelity." 

"  That  is  his  name,"  said  Mad.  d'Aulney,  "  as  I 
was  afterwards  told  by  Antoine,  the  ^uard,  who 
now  waits  at  the  door"— 

"  Antoine  !  he  cannot  be  trusted,"  interrupted  La 
Tour ;  "  he  has  once  deserted  my  cause,  and  joined 
tiie  standard  of  an  enemy,  and  I  cannot  again  rely 
on  his  integrity." 

"  He  was  seduced  from  his  duty,"  returned  Mad. 
d'Aulney ;  "  but,  I  believe,  has  sincerely  repented 
of  his  error,  and  is  now  anxious  to  atone  for  it. 
You  shall  judge  for  yourself.  A  few  weeks  since, 
he  was  so  dangerously  ill,  that  very  faint  hopes 
were  entertained  of  his  recovery  ;  and,  hearing  that 
he  was  a  stranger,  and  in  many  respects  destitute, 


it 


i  1 


\ 


•  \ 


%. 


160 


KIVALS  OF  ACADIA. 


( 


i 


T    !> 


I  was  induced  to  visit  him,  and  administer  suclr 
comforts  as  his  state  required.  What  he  termed 
my  kindness,  excited  his  warmest  gratitude,  and  he 
unburthened  his  conscience  to  me,  of  the  crime 
which  seemed  to  lie  heavily  on  it.  He  considered 
his  disorder  a  visitation  of  Providence,  inflicted  as 
a  punishment  for  his  desertion ;  and  he  wished 
most  earnestly  to  return  to  your  service.  I  was 
pleased  with  the  good  feelings  he  displayed,  but 
advised  him  to  rest  contented  for  the  present,  pro- 
.riising  to  aid  his  wishes  if  any  opportunity  oflered  ; 
and,  from  that  time  I  have  seen*  little  of  him,  till 
since  your  arrival." 

"  And  you  have  now  engaged  his  assistance  ?" 
asked  La  Tour ;  "  well,  be  it  so  ;  once  more  in  the 
open  air,  I  fear  not  even  treachery  ;  and,  furnished 
with  a  trusty  weapon,  I  bid  defiance  to  every  ob- 
stacle that  can  oppose  my  freedom." 

"Caution  you  will  find  more  useful  than  strength," 
said  Mad.  d'Aulney  ;  "  and  by  its  aid  we  have  thus 
far  succeeded,  even  beyond  my  expectations.  This 
afternoon,  I  observed  father  Gilbert  in  conversation 
with  Antoine ;  and,  trusting  to  the  sincerity  of  the 
latter,  I  soon  after  found  a  preUxt  for  speaking 
with  him,  and  cautiously  introduced  the  subject  ol' 
your  escape.  He  was  readv,  at  every  risk,  to  as- 
sist in  any  meiasures  which  could  be  adopted  ;  and 
informed  me  that  it  had  already  been  discussed  be- 
tween himself  and  the  priest,  and  that  he  was,  this 


vm 


3'  itV 


t^ 


BIVALS   OF  ACADIA. 


167 


night,  to  stand  sentinel  at  your  door.  Nothing 
could  be  more  propitious  to  our  views ;  and,  in  the 
course  of  the  day,  we  have  found  means  to  arrange 
every  thing,  I  hope,  with  perfect  safety." 

"This  is  indeed  a  kindness,  a  condescending  in- 
terest, of  which  I  am  wholly  unworthy,"  said  La 
Tour,  with  energy  ;  "  how,  Adele,  can  I  ever  show 
you  the  gratitude,  the" — 

"  Speak  not  of  that.  La  Tour,"  she  hastily  inter- 
rupted ;  "  think  now  of  nothing  but  your  safety  ; 
trust  implicitly  to  the  guidance  of  Antoine;  and,  I 
trust,  it  will  soon  be  insured." 

"  And  you,"  said  La  Tour,  "  who  have  generous- 
ly hazarded  so  much  to  aid  me — how  can  I  be  sa- 
tisfied that  you  will  escape  unharmed  f  how  can  I 
leave  you,  in  uncertainty  and  peril  ?" 

"  Believe  me,"  said  Mad.  d'Aulney,  "  I  am  per- 
fectly secure ;  Antoine  will  desert  his  post  to  go 
with  you,  and  suspicion  must  rest  entirely  on  him, 
and  father  Gilbert.  The  priest  waits  for  you  with- 
out tlie  fort;  and,  once  with  him,  pursuit  will  be 
unavailing,  even  if  your  flight  is  soon  discovered  ; 
delay  no  longer,  the  morning  watch  approaches, 
and  you  must  be  far  from  hence,  before  another 
;[;uard  appears  to  relieve  Antoine.  These  garments 
will  sufficiently  disguise  you,"  she  added,  divesting 
herself  of  a  loose  robe  and  monkish  cloak,  which 
covered  her  own  dress;  "the  soldier  on  duty  will 
take  you  for  a  priest  returning  from  the  confessor's 


168 


RIVALS   OF  ACADIA. 


i 


\  ! 


room,  and  you  will  probably  pass  unquestioned,  a{< 
the  priests,  of  late,  have  free  access  here  at  all 
hours." 

"  And  whither  do  you  go,  and  how  elude  obser- 
vation ?"  asked  La  Tour. 

"  I  have  only  to  cross  the  passage,  and  descend 
a  narrow  staircase,"  she  replied ;  "  both  of  which 
were  left  to  the  vigilance  of  Antoine ;  and  I  shall 
reach  my  own  apartment,  without  encountering  any 


5> 


I-  ) 

* 


one. 

A  low  rap  was  at  that  moment  heard  without  th» 
door  ;  Mad.  d'Aulney,  at  the  sound,  turned  quick- 
ly to  La  Tour,  and  offering  him  her  hand,  with  a 
melancholy  smile,  she  said, 

"  It  is  time  for  us  to  part ;  and  may  the  blessed 
saints  be  with  you,  St.  Etienne,  and  guide  you 
from  hence  in  safety  ;  wc  may  never  meet  again, 
but  my  prayers  will  always  intercede  for  your  hap- 
piness and  prosperity." 

"  God  bless  you,  Adele,"  said  La  Tour,  in  a  sub- 
dued voice,  taking  her  hand  respectfully,  "  for  this 
night's  kindness  ;  for  all  that  you  have  ever  shewn 
me,  words  are  too  feeble  to  express  my  gratitude ; 
may  heaven  watch  over  you,  and  make  you  as  hap- 
py as  you  deserve  to  be  :  farewell !" 

Mad.  d'Aulney  turned  from  him  in  silence ;  and 
Antoine  instantly  opening  the  door,  in  obedience 
to  a  signal  from  her,  she  addressed  a  parting  word 
of  good  will  to  him,  and  hastily  descended  the  stairs. 
La  Tour  stood  with  his  eves  ii\cd  on  Jier  rf  tirins 


\\L 


F*^ 


BITALS  07  ACADIA. 


169 


figure,  till  Antoine  ventured  to  urge  his  departure, 
by  reminding  him,  that  every  moment's  delay  in- 
creased the  danger  of  discovery.  He  started  at  the 
suggestion  ;  and,  wrapping  the  cloak  around  him, 
nMd  drawing  the  cowl  closely  over  his  face,  they 
proceeded  in  perfect  silence,  leaving  the  door  se- 
cured, as  before,  by  bolts  and  bars,  in*  the  hope  that 
it4night  lull  suspicion  for  a  short  time,  or,  at  least, 
retard  the  moment  of  certain  discovery.  They 
passed  out  into  the  open  air,  through  a  door  which 
Antoine  had  the  means  of  opening,  and  thus  avoid- 
ed the  sentinels  who  guarded  the  usual  passage. 

The  continued  darkness  favored  La  Tour's  dis- 
guise ;  they  safely  reached  the  gate, '  and  Antoine 
informed  the  guard  that  he  was  ordered  to  conduct 
the  holy  father  out,  and  that  he  had,  himself,  a 
commission  from  his  lord,  which  would  detain  him 
several  hours.  They  were  immediately  permitted 
to  pass.  Every  obstacle  was  then  surmounted, 
and,  with  feelings  of  exultation.  La  Tour  again 
stood  upon  the  ocean's  verge,  and  listened  to  the 
rushing  of  the  wind  and  waves,  beneath  the  free 
and  ample  canopy  of  heaven.  He  looked  back  to- 
wards the  fort,  visible  by  a  few  glimmering  lights, 
and  the  gratitude  and  tenderness  which  had  so  re- 
cently subdued  his  stern  and  haughty  spirit,  were 
strangely  blended  with  revenge  and  hatred  against 
the  man,  from  whose  power  he  was  then  escaping. 

Antoine  uttered  a  shrill  whistle,  which  was  an- 
15 


¥  i  1 

ml    1     1 

M\  lid 

iri 

170 


RIVALS   OV   ACADIA. 


It 


sv^ered  by  the  dash  of  oars ;  and  a  skiff  presently 
shot  from  a  little  bay,  and  drew  near  the  spot  where 
they  waited.  Father  Gilbert  was  in  it ;  La  Tour 
grasped  his  hand,  in  silence  ;  and  Antoine,  taking 
the  oars,  applied  all  his  strength  and  dexterity,  to 
bear  them  swiftly  over  the  dark  and  troubled 
waters. 


- 1'  i 
•V  I 

f 


UIVALfi  OF  ACADIA. 


171 


Who  is't  can  read  ?  woman  ? 

Shakspearc. 

Arthur  Stanhope  found  M.  de  Valette  at  Pe- 
maquid,  according  to  the  information  of  father  Gil- 
bert ;  for  the  priest  had,  in  fact,  left  him  there  on 
the  preceding  evening,  and  it  was  from  him  that  he 
learned  the  tidings  of  I-a  Tour's  imprisonment. 

Soon  after  his  interview  with  Stanhope,  at  Mount 
Desert,  father  Gilbert  obtained  permission  to  visit 
the  confessor  at  Penobscot,  during  the  absence  of 
a  priest  who  usually  att<  nded  him  ;  nor  did  this  vo- 
luntary act  of  charity  excite  any  suspicion  against 
one  who  had  gained  so  high  a  reputation  for  zeal 
and  sanctity.  Anto-iie  saw,  -md  instantly  recogni- 
zed him  ;  and,  suspecting  that  his  visit  to  the  fort 
was  prompted  by  a  vish  to  learn  the  situation  of 
La  Tour,  he,  under  the  seal  of  confession,  imparted 
his  yet  immature  plan  of  escape,  and,  almost  be- 
yond his  hopes,  iound  in  him  a  very  able  assistant 
and  adviser. 

Father  Gilbert  was  aware  that  La  Tour  favored 
the  Hugonot  cause  j  but  he,  with  reason,  doubted 


■^.••^■isfi*.'!,- 


172 


BITALS  OF  ACADIA. 


'i;    > 


the  sincerity  of  his  motives ;  for  he  encouraged 
the  Catholic  religion  throughout  his  settlement, 
and  supported  the  authority  of  the  priesis.  He 
knew  that  Mad.  de  la  Tour  was  warmly  attached 
to  the  protestant  cause,  and  that  her  influence  was 
extensive  ;  the  establishment  of  the  true-faith,  there- 
fore, seemed  to  depend  on  La  Tour's  support  and 
assistance ;  and  if  some  measures  were  not  soon 
adopted  to  procure  his  freedom,  D'Aulney  would 
probably  detain  him  long  in  confinement,  or  per- 
haps send  him  to  France,  to  await  the  slow  process 
of  a  trial.  If  any  feelings  of  personal  regard 
towards  La  Tour  influenced  the  priest,  they  were 
unacknowledged  even  to  his  own  heart ;  for  he 
carefully  excluded  every  earthly  object  from  his 
affections,  and  seemed  to  endure  life,  only  in  the 
hope  that  a  severe  and  constant  discharge  of  his 
sacred  duties  would,  at  length,  insure  him  a  happy 
release  from  its  painful  bondage. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  day  preceding  La 
Tour's  escape,  De  Valette  received  a  message  from 
father  Gilbert,  requiring  him  to  return,  without 
delay,  to  the  neighbourhood  of  fort  Penobscot. 
Though  he  assigned  no  reason  for  his  request,  nor 
gave  any  intimation  of  his  plans,  the  young  French- 
man reposed  implicit  confidence  in  his  discretion  ; 
and,  moreover,  as  a  good  Catholic,  he  was  so  habit- 
uated to  the  control  of  a  spiritual  guide,  that  he 
did  not  hesita^^  a  moment  to  comply  with  this 
desire.      Stanhope  was  rather  surprised  at  this 


ready  su 

was,  by 

ter;  but 

at  Pema 

his  nocti 

The  V 

ing  was 

object  ir 

extreme. 

it  was  afl 

appointei 

they  shoi 

they  anc 

Mount  I 

breaking 

De  Valeti 

It  was  o 

labored  a 

with  fold( 

«  That 

hither .?" 

the  ship's 

sprang  u 

which  he 

joyful  re< 

cither  ves 

enthusias 

which  po 

related  th 

carefully 


A 


mTAXS   OF  ACADU. 


17S 


ll 


11  raged 
ementy 
3.  He 
tached 
ce  was 
,  there- 
>rt  and 
>t  soon 

would 
or  per- 
process 

regard 
jy  were 

for  he 
rem  his 
'  in  the 
I  of  his 
I  happy 


ing 


La 

ge  from 

without 

obscot. 

3st,  nor 

''rench- 

retion ; 

habit- 

;hat  he 

th  this 

at   this 


ready  submission  on  the  part  of  De  Valette,  which 
was,  by  no  means,  a  prominent  trait  in  his  charac- 
ter ;  but,  as  nothing  could  be  gained  by  remaining 
at  Pemaquid,  he  consented  to  accompany  him,  on 
his  nocturnal  voyage. 

The  wind  favored  their  passage,  but  the  even- 
ing was  dark  and  gloomy  ;  and,  with  no  certain 
object  in  view,  their  progress  was  tedious  in  the 
extreme.  The  vessels  kepi  close  in  company,  but 
it  was  after  midnight  whtn  they  reached  the  place 
appointed  by  father  Gilbert ;  and,  presuming  that 
thej  should  hear  nothing  from  him  ull  morning, 
they  anchored  near  each  other,  oft"  the  shore  of 
Mount  Desert.  The  morning  twilight  was  just 
breaking  on  the  distant  hills,  when  the  watch  from 
De  Vale'-ie's  vessel  descried  an  approaching  boat. 
It  was  occupied  by  three  persons,  two  of  them 
labored  at  the  oars,  and  the  third  sat  in  the  midst, 
with  folded  arms,  in  a  state  of  perfect  immobility. 

"That  is  father  Gilbert,  but  who  brings  him 
hither  f"  exclaimed  De  Valette,  as  they  drew  up  to 
the  ship's  side,  and  pulled  in  their  oars.  La  Tour 
sprang  upon  the  deck,  flinging  aside  the  disguise 
which  he  had  till  then  retained ;  and  a  shout  of 
joyful  recognition  was  echoed  by  every  voice  in 
cither  vessel.  Antoine  was  received  on  board  with 
enthusiasm  ;  and,  in  answer  to  the  eager  inquiries 
which  poured  from  every  lip,  La  Tour  briefly 
related  the  circumstances  of  hie  escape,  though  1m 
carefully  suppressed  any  allusion  to  the  assistanc( 


ft 


15 


fi* 


J 


■-*ri*' 


174 


BITALS  OT  ACADIA. 


r'i 


4' 


of  Mad.  d'Aulney.  It  was  long  before  the  tumult 
of  gratulation  subsided ;  but  father  Gilbert,  who 
alone  remained  cold  and  unconcerned,  retired  from 
it  as  soon  as  possible,  and  resumed  the  guidance  of 
his  little  bark,  which  had  safely  borne  him  on 
many  a  solitary  voyage.  The  chant  of  his  matin 
hymn  rose,  at  intervals,  on  the  fitful  breeze ;  and 
Stanhope  watched  him  till  he  disappeared  behind 
the  point  of  land  re  nd  *vii«ch  he  had  followed  him 
on  the  preceding  d  ' 

La  Tour,  convince  that  all  the  force  which  he 
could  at  present  command  w :.  j  insufficient  to  con- 
tend with  D'Aulney,  whose  strength  had  been 
greatly,  though  perhaps  without  design,  misrepre- 
sented to  him,  ordered  the  sails  to  be  set  for  a 
homeward  voyage ;  and,  before  sunrise,  the  shores 
of  Penobscot  were  left  far  behind  them. 

The  remainder  of  the  night,  which  succeeded  La 
Tour's  release,  was  passed  by  Madame  d'Aulney, 
in  a  state  of  morbid  excitement.  She  watched 
alone  by  the  side  of  her  sleeping  infant,  and  even 
maternal  solicitude  was,  for  a  time,  suspended  by 
the  intense  interest,  which  her  own  perilous  adven- 
ture, and  the  safety  of  La  Tour  awakened.  She 
felt  that  she  had  done  a  deed,  for  which,  if  by  any 
chance  discovered,  she  could  never  hope  to  obtain 
forgiveness  from  her  incensed  husband.  Still,  her 
conscience  acquitted  her  of  any  motive  criminal  in 
its  nature,  or  traitorous  to  his  real  interest ;  and 
the  reflection  that  it  had  been  in  her  power  to  con- 


KIITALS  or  ACADIA. 


175 


for  an  essential  benefit  on  the  man  whom  she  had 
once  deeply,  though  most  unintentionally,  injured, 
was  inexpressibly  soothing  to  her  feelings.  She 
counted  the  moments,  which  seemed  to  linger  in 
their  flight,  and  started  at  the  slightest  sound,  till 
sufficient  time  had  elapsed  to  convince  her  that  he 
must  have  proceeded  far  on  his  way,  towards  a 
place  of  safety. 

The  dreaded  discovery  was  indeed  deferred 
beyond  her  utmost  expectations.  The  guard,  who 
was  to  relieve  Antoine,  repaired  to  his  post  at  the 
appointed  time;  and,  though  surprised  to  find  it 
vacated,  yet  as  the  door  was  perfectly  secure,  he 
contented  himself  with  uttering  an  oath  at  his  com- 
rade's negligence,  and  in  a  few  moments  it  was 
almost  forgotten.  An  hour  or  more  passed  away, 
and  no  motion  was  heard  within ;  morning  advanced 
—he  thought  it  strange  that  his  prisoner  should 
enjoy  such  sound  repose,  and  a  suspicion  of  the 
truth  began  to  dawn  upon  his  mind.  He  unbarred 
the  door,  and  his  suspicions  were,  of  course,  in- 
stantly realized.  Repenting  the  easy  faith  which  had 
suffered  him  to  delay  an  examination,  he  hastened 
to  impart  the  intelligence,  which  soon  sprf.ad  dis- 
may and  confusion  throughout  the  garrison. 

Madame  d'Aulney  heard  the  loud  voices,  and 
hurried  steps  of  the  soldiers  without,  and  the  quick 
note  of  alarum,  whose  fearful  summons  could  not 
be  mistaken.  These  sounds,  though  long  expected, 
struck  heavily  on  her  heart ;  and  she  uttered  a 


M 


1 

i) 


I 


i 
1  I 


176 


BITALS  OF   ACADIA. 


!     J 


U'  V 


tA 


fervent  petition  to  the  Virgin,  to  speed  the  wan- 
derer on  his  doubtful  way.  She  heard  various 
reports  of  what  had  taken  place,  from  her  atten- 
dants ;  but  she  prudently  waited  for  the  storm  of 
passion  to  subside,  before  she  ventured  into  the 
presence  of  M.  d' Aulney,  conscious  that  the  utmost 
effort  of  self-command  would  be  necessary  to  meet 
his  eye  with  her  usual  composure. 

"  Methinks  you  are  tardy  this  morning,  madame !" 
lie  said,  stopping  in  his  hurried  vtralk,  and  looking 
fixedly  jn  her  countenance,  as  she  at  length  entered 
the  room  where  he  was  alone. 

**■  Our  sick  child  must  plead  my  excuse,"  she  re- 
plied ;  "  he  still  requires  a  watchful  care,  and  I  am 
unwilling  to  consign  him  to  any  one  less  interested 
than  myself" 

*'  You  are  a  fond  mother,"  said  D'Aulney,  re- 
suming his  walk ;  "  but,  there  are  few  husbands 
who  choose  to  be  neglected  for  a  puling  infant." 

"  The  duties  of  a  wife  and  mother  are  closely 
blended,"  she  returned;  "and  I  trust  I  have  not 
been  deficient  in  the  performance  of  either." 

"  You  well  know,"  he  said,  peevishly,  "  that  I 
have  no  fancy  for  the  nursery,  with  its  appendages 
of  children  and  nurses ;  and  yet,  for  three  days, 
you  have  scarcely  condescended  to  quit  it  for  an 
instant.  Yes,  for  three  days,"  be  repeated,  again 
stopping  and  looking  earnestly  at  her,  "  you  have 
secluded  yourself  from  me,  and  your  cheek  has 


If  »' 


":        f'i     .^\ 


niYAXS  OV  ACABIA. 


177 


grown  pale,  as  if  some  cherished  care,  or  deep  anx- 
iety, had  preyed  upon  your  thoughts  !" 

"And  what  anxiety  can  exceed  a  mother's?"  she 
asked,  the  tears  springing  to  her  eyes  ;  "  wh  it  care 
so  ceaseless  and  unwearied,  as  her's,  who  v/atches 
over  the  helpless  being  to  whom  she  has  given  ex-* 
istence ;  whose  sufferings  no  other  eye  can  com- 
prehend J  whose  infant  wants  demand  the  constant 
soothings  of  her  enduring  tenderness,  and  exhaust- 
less  love  !     And  has  this  excited  your  displeasure  ?'' 

*'  My  own  ailairs  have  chafed  me,  Adele,"  he  said, 
more  gently ;  "  a  favorite  project  has  miscarried, 
and  the  vengeance  I  have  so  long  desired  is  foiled, 
in  the  very  moment  when  I  believed  success  un- 
doubted ;  all  this,  too,  through  my  own  easy  cre« 
dulity,  and  a  lenity,  which  its  object  ill  deserved 
from  me  !" 

"  You  have  erred  on  the  safer  side,"  said  Ma- 
dame d'Aulney,  timidly;  "and  your  own  heart,  I 
doubt  noi,  will  acknowledge,  in  some  cooler  mo- 
ment, that  it  is  far  better  to  forego  the  momentary 
pleasure  of  revenge,  than  to  commit  one  deed  which 
could  stain  your  name  with  the  guilt  of  tyranny  and 
oppression." 

"  You  know  little  of  the  wrongs,"  he  answered, 
sternly,  "  which  for  years  have  goaded  me ;  and 
which,  if  unrevenged,  would  brand  me  with  worse 
than  a  coward's  infamy.  The  artifice,  which  has 
so  often  baffled  my  plans ;  the  arrogance,  which 


\    X 


/ 


178 


B1TA19   OF   A0ADI4. 


IN 


i) 


has  usurped  my  claims ;  even  you,  jj^entle  as  you 
are,  would  scorn  me,  if  I  could  forgive  them !" 

"  Mutual  injuries  require  mutual  forgiveness," 
she  replied  ;  ''  and,  in  the  strife  of  angry  passions, 
it  is  not  easy  to  discriminate  the  criminal  from  the 
accuser.  But,"  she  added,  seeing  his  brow  darken, 
"  you  have  led  me  into  a  subject  which  can  only 
betray  my  ignorance ;  you  well  know  that  I  am 
wholly  incompetent  to  judge  of  your  public  affairs; 
and  I  have  never  ventured  to  obtrude  upon  your 
private  views,  or  personal  feelings." 

"  You  have  too  much  of  a  woman's  heart,  Ade- 
le,"  he  said,  "  to  become  the  sharer  of  important 
councils ;  a  freak  of  fancy,  or  a  kindly  feeling, 
might  betray  or  destroy  the  wisest  plan  that  could 
be  formed." 

"  Nay,"  she  answered,  smiling,  "  I  have  no 
wish  to  play  the  counsellor ;  and  it  is  well,  if  my 
husband  can  be  satisfied  with  the  humble  duties 
which  it  is  my  sole  ambition  to  fulfil." 

"  And  there  are  enough  of  these  within  the  limits 
of  our  own  household,"  D'Aulney  replied ;  "  though 
you  are  but  too  ready  to  extend  your  benevolent 
exertions  beyond ;  you  were,  for  instance,  most 
zealous,  the  saints  only  know  why,  to  save  the  life 
of  that  scoundrel  soldier  of  La  Tour's,  when  he 
lay  sick  here  ; — I  would  that  he  had  died ! — and, 
trusting  to  your  commendations,  and  his  apparent 
honesty,  I  raised  him  to  my  favor,  and  gave  him  a 
post,  which  he  has  but  now  most  basely  betrayed. 


,'    r 


A 


RIVALS   OV   ACADIA. 


179 


Fool,  that  I  was,  to  think  he  could  have  served  with 
such  a  master,  and  not  bring  with  him  the  taint  of 
treachery  !" 

"  Poor  Antoine  !"  said  Madame  d'Aulney,  equi- 
vocally; "he  made  fair  professions,  and  the  most 
suspicious  could  not  have  doubted  his  sincerity. 
You  did  not  then  object  to  my  rendering  him  those 
slight  services,  which,  you  thought,  might  attach 
him  more  strongly  to  your  cause  ;  and  I  could  not 
think  he  would  repay  me  with  ingratitude.  But  I 
marvel  that  you,  who  are  so  habitually  wary  and 
discerning,  should  have  been  deceived  by  his  pre- 
tensions ;  the  friend,  or  servant,  who  has  once 
proved  perfidious,  is  unworthy «finy  future  confi- 
dence." 

D*Aulney  started,  as  if  stung  by  the  last  re- 
mark, and  lookmg  keenly  on  her,  replied, 

"  He  is  not  the  only  traitor  whom  I  have  fostered 
and  protected ;  some  other  hand  has  been  busy  in 
this  work,  and,  though  it  were  the  dearest  that  I  have 
on  earth,  my  wrath  should  not  abate  one  tittle  of 
its  justice." 

"  It  was,  indeed,  a  bold  adventure !"  said  Mad. 
d'Aulney,  with  admirable  composure ;  "  but  if,  as  I 
am  told,  a  priest  gained  access  to  the  prisoner 
through  Antoine's  intervention,  they  would  scarcely 
deem  it  necessary  to  run  the  hazard  of  employing 
any  other  agency  ;  and  let  us  not  be  guilty  of  in- 
justice, by  indulging  suspicions  of  the  innocent," 


I 


I 


I  't=-.^6a 


180 


BIVALS  OF  ACADIA. 


iV  ^ 


1*  -u 


'    (in 


"  I  have  closely  questioned  the  father  confessor 
on  this  subject,"  he  replied,  thoughtfully ;  "  and  I 
learn  that  a  stranger,  one  of  his  own  crafty  order, 
yesterday  visited  him  ;  and  that  soon  after  leaving 
hi"  apartment,  he  was  observed  in  close  conference 
with  the  wretch  Antoine ;  but  the  guard  denies  ad- 
mitting any  one  through  the  gate  at  a  later  hour  ; 
though  a  priesi,  or,  as  is  now  supposed,  the  prison- 
er in  his  garb,  p:*issed  out  after  midnight,  with  the 
deserter,  who  gave  some  plausible  excuse  for  de- 
parting at  that  unseasonable  hour." 

"The  men  are  terrified  by  your  anger,"  said 
Mad.  d'Aulney,  and  probably  contradict  each  oth- 
er in  their  natural^eagerness  to  justify  themselves  ; 
you  permitted  the  priests  to  enter  freely,  and  no 
one  can  be  blamed  for  obeying  your  commands, 
which  did  not  prohibit  a  stranger  under  the  sacred 
habit." 

"The  confessor's  illness,"  resumed  D'Aulney, 
with  bitterness,  '^  has  gathered  all  the  priests  in 
the  1p  id  around  him ;  and  this  goat,  who  entered 
with  the  herd,  is  doubtless  a  creature  of  La  Tour's ; 
but,  heshrew  me,  were  the  holy  father  in  the  last 
extremity,  I  would  noi  admit  another,  without  a 
scrutiny  which  no  artifice  could  escape." 

"  You  have  many  prisoners  left,"  said  Madame 
d'Aulney,  carelessly ;  '<  and  this  one,  though  the 
chief,  was  he  so  very  important  as  to  justify  all  this 
severity  ^" 


\ 


.„< 


BIVALS  OF  ACADIA. 


ISl 


"  It  matters  not,  madame,"  lie  answered,  stern- 
ly ;  "  but  I  care  not  to  have  my  wishes  thwarted  by 
cunning ;  my  plans  defeated  by  fraud  and  artifice. 
Vet  your  curiosity  shall  be  gratified,"  he  added; 
"  or,  tell  me,  do  you  not  already  know  who  has  so 
narrowly  escaped  the  punishment  his  crimes  have 
well  deserved  ?" 

"  You  told  me,"  she  replied,  "  that  it  was  a  lieu- 
tenant of  M.  de  la  Tour's,  and  I  have,  of  course, 
sought  no  further  information." 

"  It  is  well  that  you  did  not ;"  he  said,  hastily  ; 
"  but  suppose  I  should  now  tell  you  that  it  was 
the  miscreant.  La  Tour  himself,  would  that  palliate 
the  severity  of  which  you  are  so  ready  to  accuse 
me  r 

'*  It  would  not  extenuate  the  subterfuge  which 
tit  first  concea.Ied  the  truth  from  me,"  she  answered, 
with  an  indignant  blush,  ''  nor  atone  for  a  want  ot 
confidence,  which  1  had  not  deserved  from  you." 

"  And  of  what  importance  was  this  mighty 
secret  to  you  9"  he  asked,  sarcastically  ;  "  mcthinks 
you  should  rather  thank  me  for  the  kindness  whicit 
saved  you" — 

"  It  was  well,"  she  interrupted,  in  an  accent  of 
decision,  '*  and  now  let  it  pass  forever.  Your  kind 
precaution,  fortunately  >  has  prevented  some  suspi- 
«;ions,  which,  1  perceive,  you  were  but  loo  ready 
to  indulge." 

"  I  yet  trust  he  has  not  quite  escaped  ;"  resumed 
ITAulncy,  after  a  moment's  pause ;  *'  I  have  sent 

16 


(    i 


182 


AIVALS  0¥  ACADIA. 


1  ii 


out  parties  in  every  direction  through  the  neigh- 
bouring country,  and  swift  boats  across  the  bay ; 
and  he  must  be  gifted  with  ahnost  supernatural 
powers,  to  elude  pursuit.  His  return  shall  be 
loudly  celebrated,"  he  added,  with  a  gloomy  smile  ; 
"  and  you  shall  not  complain,  Adele,  that  we  do 
not  call  you  in  to  the  rejoicings  !" 

"T  think  he  will  avoid  giving  that  triumph," 
she  replied ;  *^  for  he  doubtless  anticipated  your 
pursuit,  and  was  prepared  to  elude  it  *,  some  of  his 
own  peo  le  were,  most  probably,  in  concert  with 
the  priest,  to  secure  him  a  safe  retreat." 

"  I  doubt  not  that  you  wish  it,"  said  D'Aulney, 
angrily ;  "  that  you  rejoice  in  his  success,  though  it 
abolish  my  fairest  schemes,  and  prolong  a  conflict 
which  has  already  proved  pernicious  to  my  fortune 
and  interests." 

"  I  can  wish  for  no  event,"  she  answered,  mildly, 
**  which  would  retard  your  honorable  designs,  and 
defeat  any  rational  prospect  of  happiness  or  advan- 
tage ;  neither  can  I  adopt  prejudices  which  I  do 
not  comprehend,  or  wish  evil  to  one  who  has  never 
injured  me." 

*'  It  is  well,  madame,"  he  replied  ;  *'  and  your 
benevolence,  perchance,  will  be  rewarded.  But, 
though  he  now  escape,  believe  me,  the  hour  ol 
vengeance  will  one  day  arrive ;  I  will  follow  hiia 
till  he  surrenders  the  possessions  so  unlawfully 
retained,  and  ceases  to  assume  a  power  which  has 
no  longer  an  existence,  but  in  name." 


♦  * 


RIVAI.S  OF  ACADIi. 


183 


"  And  is  it  for  a  name  only,  that  you  contend  ?" 
asked  Mad.  d^Aulney ;  "  must  our  domestic  peace 
and  safety  remain  in  jeopardy,  and  the  din  of  strife 
forever  ring  around  us,  because  a  powerless  enemy 
refuses  to  yield  imaginary  rights  ?" 

"  You  are  wilfully  ignorant  on  this  subject,"  he 
replied  ;  "  and  shew  little  of  that  submission,  which 
a  dutiful  wife  shopld  feel  for  her  husband's  judg- 
ment ;  but  it  is  enough  that  I  know  ihe  justice  of 
my  own  cause,  and  that  I  bear  a  sword,  which  has 
ever  been  faithful  to  its  trust.  Go  you,"  he  added, 
tauntingly,  "  and  count  your  rosary,  and  mutter  to 
the  saints  a  prayer  with  every  bead  ;  it  maybe  they 
will  protect  the  traitor,  whom  your  good  wishes 
have  already  followed." 

So  saying,  he  abruptly  left  the  room  ;  and  Mad- 
ame d'Aulney,  with  teariul  eyes,  and  an  oppressed 
heart,  hastened  to  the  retirement  of  her  own  apart- 
ment. 


A/ 


rm 


184 


RIVALS   OF  ACADIA. 


OHiLFTSR   ZVT. 


I  cannot  love  him  ; 

Vet  I  suppose  him  virtuous,  know  him  noble. 

*  •  *  *  * 

but  yet  I  cannot  love  him, 

He  might  have  took  his  answer  long  ago. 


Shakspeare. 


rli 


Rumors  of  M.  de  la  Tour's  defeat  and  capture, 
attended  with  the  usua'  exaggerations,  were  not 
slow  in  reaching  fort  St.  John's  ;  and  they  could  not 
fail  of  producing  a  strong  excitement  in  the  garri- 
son, and  of  rendering  those  more  closely  conn'jcted 
with  him,  deeply  anxious  respecting  the  result. 
Madame  de  la  Tour  had  been  attacked  by  a  severe 
illness,  from  which  she  was  slowly  recovering; 
and  Lucie  dreaded  to  impart  to  her  the  tiding?, 
which  from  her  own  feelings,  she  was  assured, 
would  excite  the  most  painful  solicit?"le.  But  her 
aunt's  penetrating  eye  soon  deteci  •  t  no  conceal- 
ment, and  she  could  no  longer  withliold  a  minute 
detail  of  the  reports  which  had  reached  her  ears. 
They  were,  however,  received  by  Mad.  la  Toui 
with  unexpected  firmness.  She  could  not,  indeed, 
suppress  her  uneasiness,  but  she  felt  that  exertion 


:!L?rvAT.S   OF   ACADIA- 


J8& 


KSPISARE. 


«vas  n  :ccssaky,  and,  from  that  moment,  the  languor 
of'Jifjc  ase  yielded  to  the  energy  of  her  mental  cau- 

Madame  de  la  Tour  had  experienced  many  vicis- 
situdes, and,  as  the  wife  of  a  soldier  of  fortune,  she 
had  learned  to  bear  success  with  moderation,  and 
to  meet  reverses  with  fortitude.  She  loved  her 
husb  tnd,  and  with  a  spirit  as  high  and  undaunted 
ns  his  own,  and  a  mind  far  more  noble  and  generous, 
she  cherished  his  honor,  as  the  only  treasure  which 
violence  or  injustice  could  never  wrest  from  him. 
Affection  is  always  credulous,  and  fortunately  for 
her  happiness  she  gavenobclief  to  the  high  charges 
which  were  publicly  alleged  against  him ;  but  plac** 
cd  the  most  undoubting  trust  in  his  assurance,  that 
they  were  the  baseless  calumnies  of  an  enemy. 
Even  the  many  dark  shades  in  his  character,  which 
could  not  escape  her  discernment,  she  was  ever 
ready  to  palliate;  and  her  bland  influence  often 
restrained  the  violence  of  his  stern  and  vindictive 
temper. 

La  Tour,  with  all  his  faults,  was  never  unjust  to 
nor  merits ;  and,  thougli  he  had  married  her  with- 
out aftection,  her  execiplary  conduct  gradually 
removed  his  indiflerence,  and  gained  an  ascendan* 
v.y  over  him,  which  his  pride  would  uev-^r  have 
brooked  from  a  less  superior  mind.  The  raisfor- 
Umc  vvliicii  had  now  befallen  him,  Mad.  de  la  T<Hir 
'tad  reason  to  apprehend,  would  lead  to  still  more 
^f^rious  consequences.  His  imprisonment  mighi 
10* 


^' 


i 


166 


BITALS   OF  ACAB7.A.. 


prove  long  and  perilous  ;  and  it  was  probable  thai 
D'Aulney  would  take  advantage  of  so  good  an  op- 
portunity to  renew  his  attempt  upon  the  fort.  La 
Tour  had  drawn  his  best  men  from  the  garrison,  in 
the  sanguine  hope  that  he  was  leading  them  to  vic- 
tory ;  and  now  that  defeat  and  capture  had  befallen 
them,  those  who  remained  behind  were  dispirited 
by  the  apprehension  of  an  attack,  for  which  they 
were  entirely  unprepared.  Madame  de  la  Tour  again 
appeared  amongst  them ;  and,  though  pale  and  de- 
bilitated by  recent  illness,  her  presence  inspired 
them  witfj  renewed  hope  and  resolution.  Her  di- 
rections were  obeyed  with  an  alacrity,  which  shew- 
ed their  confidence  and  afiection ;  and  she  had  soon 
the  satisfaction  of  finding  every  duty  promptly  fiil- 
fiUed,  and  every  precaution  taken,  which  the  most 
vigilant  prudence  could  suggest.  These  arrange- 
ments, and  their  attendant  cares,  necessarily  en- 
grossed much  of  her  time  and  thoughts ;  and  di- 
verted her  ramd  from  the  contemplati  n  of  her  hus- 
band's drepry  &Uuation. 

Several  days  passed  away,  and  no  intelligence 
was  received,  which  could  tend  to  relieve  her  anxi- 
ety. A  tew  of  the  men  who  escaped  from  the  wreck 
of  Stanhope's  ve^siil  had  returned  to  St,  John's, 
and  confirmed  the  report  of  that  disaJiter ;  but  thoy 
v/ere  ignorant  of  any  events  which  afterwards  tooi^ 
frtace,  either  >vi*h  regard  to  him,  or  La  Tour.  Lu- 
cih  endeavov  red  to  support  the  irksome  suspense. 
^^th  sosn<^U  iiJCf  OS  tnat  equanimity  which  hpr  nnni 


1IIVAL8   OV  ACADIA. 


187 


invariably  exhibited.  But  she  was  less  practised  in 
this  species  of  self-control ;  and  the  silence,  which 
Madame  de  la  Tour  preserved  respecting  Stanhope, 
increased  her  uneasiness  and  depression.  She  had 
never  alluded  to  him,  except  in  some  casual  re- 
mark, since  the  evening  of  his  departure  ;  and  Lu- 
cie had  no  reason  to  believe  iier  sentiments  respect- 
ing his  attachment  w£re  at  all  changed.  Pride 
and  delicacy  restrained  her  from  entering  on  a 
theme,  which  was  so  pointedly  shunned ;  but  she 
tblt  wounded  by  a  reserve  that  she  had  never  before 
oxperienccd  ;  and  the  silence  imposed  on  her,  only 
gave  more  activity  to  her  thoughts,  which  were 
perpetually  engrossed  by  a  subject,  so  closely  con- 
nected with  her  happiness.  Mad.  de  la  Tour's  con- 
duct towards  her  was  in  every  other  respect  un- 
changed ;  her  affection  and  confidence  undiminish- 
ed; and  Lucie  fancied  she  could  discern,  in  this, 
the  indiience  of  her  guardian's  prejudices,  or,  per- 
haps, a  [irohibition  which  her  aunt  would  not  ven- 
ture to  disregard. 

Two  or  three  days  of  gloomy  weather  had  con- 
lined  Madame  de  la  Tour  almost  entirely  to  her  own 
apartment ;  tidings  long  expected  were  still  delay- 
ed ;  and,  in  spite  of  every  effort,  tiie  disappoint- 
ment and  anxiety  evidently  depressed  her  spirits. 
On  tlio  first  return  of  sunshine,  she  proposed  a  waJk 
with  TAicie,  to  the  cottage  of  Jacques  and  Annette, 
vvliich  stood  at  a  little  distance  without  the  fort, 
ind  hafl  hoeu  presented  to  them,  on  their  marriage^, 


^ 


,^:-^-iim^. 


188 


RFVAIS   OP   ACADIA. 


by  La  Tour,  as  a  reward  of  their  fidelity,  [t  was  at 
the  close  of  a  balmy  day,  in  the  early  part  of  au- 
tumn ;  and,  for  a  time,  they  walked  on  in  silence, 
each  one  engrossed  by  her  own  reflections.  Ma- 
dame dc  la  Tour  at  length  abruptly  said, 

"  This  soft  and  fragrant  air  brings  healing  on  its 
wings  !  my  strength  and  spirits  are  already  renova- 
ted by  its  soothing  influence,  and  even  inanimate 
nature  seems  rejoicing  in  this  brilliant  sunshine,  so 
doubly  welcome,  after  the  damp  and  heavy  fogs, 
which  have  so  long  hung  round  us !" 

"  It  is  almost  like  the  mild,  transparent  evenings 
of  our  own  bright  clime,"  said  Lucie;  ^^ hut  then 
we  can  enjoy,  without  the  fear  of  perpetual  change, 
while  in  this  land  of  vapors,  the  sun  which  sets  with 
most  resplendency  often  rises  shrouded  in  clouds." 

"  It  is  this  contrast,  which  gives  a  piquancy  to 
all  our  pleasures,"  said  Mad.  de  la  Tour ;  "  no  sky 
is  so  serene,  as  that  which  succeeds  a  tempest ;  and 
a  slight  alloy  of  sorrow  or  disappointment  gives  a 
zest  to  subsequent  enjoyment." 

"  No  one  can  love  variety  better  than  I,"  said 
Lucie,  SKi'fling;  "provided  its  shades  are  all  re- 
flected from  glowing  colors ;  but  I  would  prefer  a 
calm  and  settled  enjoyment,  however  monotonous 
it  may  seem,  to  those  sudden  bursts  which  borrow 
half  their  brightness  from  the  contrasted  gloom  ol 


a  reverse 


(( 


I" 


You  will  iind  nothing  permanent  in  this  change 
ful  world,  Lucie  ;  and,  from  your  exuberant  gaietv. 


mVAlS   or   ACADIA. 


189 


wisely  reserve  a  portion  of  cheerfulness,  at  least,  to 
support  you,  in  the  darker  moments  of  misfortune, 
which  the  most  favored  cannot  always  escape.  I 
Iiave  had  my  share  of  them  ;  and  it  is  not  a  trifling 
evil,  that  my  husband  is  now  a  prisoner,  in  tlic 
hands  of  his  most  deadly  enemy  ;  but  it  is  weakness 
to  indulge  in  useless  regrets  and  apprehensions, 
and  I  have  only  to  perform  my  duty  faithfully,  and 
cherish  the  hope,  that  his  own  courage,  or  the  as- 
sistance of  his  friends,  will  soon  effect  his  rescue." 

"  We  have  but  too  much  reason  to  believe,  thai 
they  are  all  sharers  of  his  captivity,"  returned  Lu- 
cie ;  "  had  De  Valette,  or  any  of  them  escaped, 
they  would  surely  have  returned  hither,  before 
this  time." 

"  They  would  scarcely  be  welcome  here,"  said 
Mad.  dc  la  Tour,  "  if  they  returned,  before  they  had 
done  all  that  brave  men  could  do,  to  recover  the 
liberty  of  him,  whom  they  have  pledged  themselves 
to  serve !" 

"  Their  own  feelings,  I  doubt  not,"  replied  Lu- 
cie, "  would  prompt  them  to  use  every  exertion  to 
effect  that  object,  and  Eustace's  courage,  we  know, 
is  unquestioned.  We  have  heard,  too,"  she  added, 
with  slight  hesitation,  "  that  Mr.  Stanhope  procur- 
ed another  vessel,  after  his  disaster,  to  go  on  and 
assist  my  uncle  ;  and  if,  as  is  possible,  he  and  Dc 
Valette  are  still  at  liberty,  it  would  be  strange  in- 
<leed,  if  their  united  efforts  proved  unavailing." 

"  I  have  no  reason  to  doubt  the  courage  or  sin- 


100 


RIV4LS   or   ACADIA. 


cerity  of  Mr.  Stanhope,"  said  Mad.  de  la  Tour ; 
•'but  it  is  most  natural  to  place  our  chief  reliance 
on  those  whom  we  have  long  known  and  regarded; 
and  Eustace  is  certainly  more  deeply  concerned  in 
the  honor  and  safety  of  his  uncle,  than  a  stranger 
possibly  can  be." 

"  His  personal  feelings  may  be  more  strong!) 
interested,"  replied  Lucie  ;  "  but  where  honor  or 
duty  is  involved,  I  believe  Stanhope  would  peril  his 
life  against  that  of  the  bravest  man  in  Christen- 
dom." 

"  Your  good  opinion  of  this  English  stranger," 
her  aunt  coolly  replied,  "  seems  rather  to  increase; 
but  absence  is  a  deceitful  medium,  particularly 
when  the  object  viewed  through  it  is  invested  with 
!he  2ttrnctions  of  a  foolish  partiality." 

"  Absence  has  never  influenced  my  feelings  on 
this  subject,"  said  Lucie,  deeply  coloring ;  "  my 
opinion  of  Mr.  Stanhope  has  b'^en  the  same,  from 
the  earliest  period  of  our  acquaintance." 

"  It  is  strange,"  said  Madame  de  la  Tour,  "  that, 
for  so  long  a  time,  you  should  have  refrained  from 
mentioning  even  the  name  of  this  valued  friend  to 
me  ;  that  you  should  have  permitted  the  affection 
of  De  Valette  to  gain  encouragement  and  strength, 
when  you  were  resolved  to  disappoint  it ;  and  that 
too,  from  a  romantic  attachment,  which  you  had 
little  hope  of  realizing,  and  blushed  to  acknow- 
ledge !" 

*•  I  have  no  reason,"  replied  Luciei,  "  to  blush  for 


RIVALS   OF    ACADIA. 


191 


an  attachment  which  was  honorably  sought,  and  be- 
stowed on  a  worthy  object ;  but  involved,  as  it  long 
was,  in  uncertainty,  maidenly  pride  forbade  the 
confession,  even  to  yon;  and  De  Valette  surely  had 
no  reason  to  expect  it  from  me !  Without  this  motive, 
iny  regard  for  him  never  could  have  exceeded  that 
of  a  friend,  or  sister;  my  conscience  acquits  me  of 
having  shewn  him  any  ungenerous  encouragement; 
and,  if  he  suffers  disappointment,  he  must  seek  the 
cause  in  his  own  pertinacious  vanity,  which  led  him 
to  believe  his  pretensions  irresistible." 

"  It  may  rather  be  found  in  your  own  caprice, 
Lucie ;  a  caprice  which  would  lead  few  young 
women  to  reject  an  alliance  in  every  respect  so  ad- 
vantageous." 

"  Had  I  no  other  objection  to  De  Valette,"  said 
Lucie,  "  I  should  be  most  unwilling  to  connect  my- 
self so  closely  with  one,  whose  religious  principles 
are  directly  at  variance  with  those  which  I  have 
been  taught  from  childhood  to  reverence ;  my  dear 
aunt  Rossville  often  spoke  to  me  on  this  subject, 
and  almost  in  her  last  moments,  warned  me  never 
to  form  an  alliance  which  might  endanger  my  faith, 
or  expose  me  to  the  misery  of  finding  it  scorned  by 
him  to  whom  I  had  entrusted  my  happiness,  and 
whose  views  and  feelings  would  never  unite  with 
mine,  on  a  subject  of  the  highest  concern  and  im- 
portance." 

"  That  objection  might  be  rational  in  most  in- 
stances," said  Madame  de  la  Tour  ;  "and  no  pros- 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


^ 


1.0 

Ui|2S     |25 

Ki  1^    III  2.2 

I.I 

i  ■-  IIIIM 

1.4    1  1.6 

!=—  Ill — s 

1.25 

6" 


V] 


vQ 


7. 


'c^l 


>CS 


0/ 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


33  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


192 


RIVALS   OF   ACADIA. 


h 


pect  of  temporal  advantage  for  you,  I  am  sure, 
would  induce  me  to  urge  a  step  which  could  ex- 
pose yon  to  such  trials,  or  jeopardize  those  princi- 
ples, which  you  well  know  I  have  always  inculcat- 
ed, and  most  highly  prized.  But  De  Valette  is  no 
bigot,  and  I  am  persuaded  he  would  never  coun- 
teract your  inclinations,  or  restrain  you  from  wor- 
shipping according  to  the  dictates  of  your  con- 
science. Both  your  parents,  as  you  already  know, 
Lucie,  were  Catholics  ;  many  of  your  father's  con- 
nexions are  now  high  in  favor  with  the  ruling  par- 
ty, and  your  marriage  with  a  Catholic  would  doubt- 
less be  agreeable  to  them  ;  and,  while  it  established 
your  own  fortune,  might  give  you  an  opportunity 
to  serve  the  cause  of  our  persecuted  sect." 

"  I  feel  under  no  obligations  to  my  father's  rela- 
tions," replied  Lucie ;  '  they  have  never  shewn  any 
interest  in  me ;  even  my  existence  has  seemed  a 
matter  of  indifference  to  them,  and  there  is  scarce- 
ly one  to  whom  I  have  been  personally  known." 

"  There  were  some  peculiar  circumstances  con- 
nected with  your  father's  history,"  said  Mad.  de  la 
Tour,  "  which,  for  a  long  time,  involved  his  nearest 
friends  in  deep  affliction.  He  did  not  long  survive 
your  mother,  and  his  family  would  gladly  have  re- 
ceived you  into  their  protection,  had  not  your  aunt 
Rossville  claimed  you  as  her  sister'"  last  bequest. 
She  soon  after  became  a  protestant,  and  persisted 
in  educating  you  in  that  faith,  which  naturally  gave 
offence  to  your  paternal  relatives ;  and  to  that  cause 


n 


TIIVAX.9   OF  ACADIA. 


195 


alone  I  attribute  the  decline  of  their  interest.  But, 
if  you  return  to  France,  and  as  the  wife  of  De  Va- 
Ictte,"— 

"  That  I  can  never  do !"  interrupted  Lucie ; — 
''  dearest  aunt,"  she  added,  "  I  would  sacrifice  much 
to  gratify  your  wishes ;  but  the  happiness  of  my 
whole  life, — surely  you  would  not  exact  that  from 


me 


I" 


"  I  exact  nothing  from  you,  Lucie,"  she  replied ; 
"  but  I  would  have  you  consider  well,  before  you 
finally  reject  the  tried  aflfection  of  De  Valette,  and 
with  it  affluence  and  an  honorable  station  in  your 
native  land,  merely  from  the  impulse  of  a  girlish  fan- 
cy, which  would  rashly  lead  you  from  friends  and 
country,  to  share  the  doubtful  fortunes  of  a  puri- 
tan ;  to  adopt  the  habits  of  strangers,  and  endure 
the  privations  of  a  youthful  colony !" 

"  I  have  reflected  on  all  these  things,"  said  Lu- 
cie ;  "and  I  am  persuaded  that  wealth  and  distinc- 
tion are,  at  best,  but  empty  substitutes  for  happi- 
ness ;  and  that  the  humblest  lot  is  rich  in  true  en- 
joyment, when  shared  with  one  whose  love  is  the 
fountain  of  our  hopes,  whose  smile  can  brighten 
the  darkest  hour,  and  scatter  roses  over  the  thorni- 
est path  of  life.  I  had  rather,"  she  added,  with  a 
glowing  cheek,  "  far  rather  trust  my  little  bark  to 
the  guidance  of  aflfection,  upon  the  placid  stream 
of  domestic  joy,  than  to  launch  it  on  the  troubled 
waters  of  ambition,  with  pleasure  at  the  helm,  and 


^H 


VI  • 


194 


IfllVALS   OF   ACADIA. 


freighted  with  hopes  and  desires,  which  can  bring 
back  no  returns  but  those  of  disappointment  and 
vexation." 

"  This  is  a  dream  of  idle  romance,  which  can 
never  bear  the  test  of  reahty,"  said  Mad.  de  la 
Tour ;  "  and  I  hope  you  will  detect  its  fallacy  be- 
fore you  are  taught  it  by  the  bitter  lessons  of  ex- 
perience." 

"  Our  opinions  on  this  subject,"  said  Lucie,  "  I 
fear  must  remain  entirely  at  variance;  but,  as  I 
have  yet  many  months  left  for  reflection,  let  us  at 
present  suspend  the  discussion.  Here  is  Annette's 
cottage  ;  and,  if  you  please,  I  will  extend  my  walk 
a  little,  and  return  when  I  think  you  are  sufficiently 
rested  from  your  fatigue." 

Madame  de  la  Tour  readily  assented  to  her  pro- 
posal ;  and  Lucie,  guided  by  that  delightful  associ- 
ation of  thought  and  feeling,  which  leads  us  to  re- 
trace, with  so  much  pleasure,  the  scenes  where  we 
have  lingered  with  those  we  love,  directed  her  steps 
to  a  wooded  bank,  which  overhung  the  water, 
where  she  had  last  parted  from  Arthur  Stanhope. 
The  sun  was  setting  with  unwonted  splendor,  and 
the  bright  reflection  of  his  golden  beams  tinged  the 
cloudless  sky  with  a  thousand  rich  and  varied  hues, 
from  the  deep  purple  which  blended  with  his  crim- 
son rays,  to  the  pale  amber,  and  cerulean  tint,  that 
melted  into  almost  fleecy  whiteness.  The  cart! 
glowed  beneath  its  splendid  canopy,  c"d  the  trorp. 


RITAIS   OF  ACADIA. 


196 


which  skirted  the  border  of  the  bay,  threw  their 
lengthened  shadows  upon  the  quiet  waves,  which 
lay  unruffled  and  bathed  in  the  glory  of  the  gor- 
geous heavens. 

Lucie  stood  on  the  very  spot  where  she  had  re- 
ceived the  last  adieu  of  Stanhope,  and  the  same 
objects  which  now  met  her  eyes,  were  the  mute 
witnesses  of  that  parting  scene.  Every  leaf  that 
trembled  around  her  revived  some  cherished  re- 
membrance ;  and  the  breeze,  which  sighed  through 
the  foliage,  was  soft  as  the  voice  of  whispered  love. 
But  painful  conjectures  respecting  his  present  situ- 
ation, at  length  engrossed  every  thought ;  and  the  re- 
collections of  happiness,  and  dreams  of  hope,  were 
alike  absorbed  in  the  suspense  and  anxiety  which, 
for  many  days,  had  gathered  gloomily  around  her. 
^he  involuntarily  glanced  across  the  bay,  as  if  ex- 
pecting that  some  messenger  would  approach  with 
tidings ;  and  she  started  with  joyful  surprise,  on 
observing  a  vessel  just  below,  and,  at  that  moment, 
on  the  point  of  anchoring.  She  gazed  earnestly 
for  a  short  time,  and  her  heart  throbbed  audibly  as 
she  saw  a  small  boat  leave  its  side  and  steer  direct- 
ly towards  the  fort ;  two  persons  were  in  it,  and 
the  dark  flowing  garments  of  father  Gilbert  could 
not  be  mistaken. 

Love,  it  is  said,  though  notoriously  blind  in  the 
main,  is  quick-sighted  on  such  occasions  ;  and 
another  glance  assured  Lucie,  that  the  companion 


-r-*nr- 


1% 


BIYALS   OF   ACADIA. 


of  the  holy  father,  who  plied  the  oars  with  so  much 
diligence,  was  no  other  than  Arthur  Stanhope. 
The  little  boat  glided  swiftly  on  its  course  ;  it  soon 
neared  the  shore,  and  Lucie  screened  herself  behind 
a  clump  of  trees,  when  she  found  it  verging  to  a 
cove,  hard  by,  which  formed  a  sheltered  harbour 
for  such  light  vessels. 


1^ 


'■%^-v. 


BIVALS   OF  ACADIA. 


197 


CHAPTER   ZVn. 


I  cannot  be 
Mine  own,  nor  any  thing  to  any,  if 
[  be  not  thine ;  to  this  I  am  most  constant, 
'I'hough  destiny  say,  no. 

ShAKSP£AR£ 


AuTiiLR  Stanhope  soon  guided  his  boat  into  the 
cove,  and  leaped  on  shore,  followed  more  leisurely 
by  father  Gilbert,  who  proceeded  alone  to  the  fort 
Stanhope  lingered  behind,  apparently  enjoying  a 
profound  reverie,  while,  step  by  step,  he  approached 
the  grove  where  Lucie  was  stili  concealed.  Her 
liabitual  dread  of  father  Gilbert  induced  her  to 
remain  silent,  till  he  was  out  of  sight ;  when  she 
bounded  lightly  from  her  covert,  and  stood  before 
her  lover.  An  exclamation  of  delighted  surprise 
bur-t  from  his  lips,  as  he  sprang  eagerly  towards 
her;  and  it  was  several  moments  before  the  joyful 
excitation  of  mutual  and  happy  emotions  admitted 
of  calm  inquiry  and  explanation. 

"  You  must  now  tell  me,  Arthur,'*  Luci^  at  length 
said,  "  what  miracle  lias  brought  you  here  ;  how 
you  huve  escaped  from  sorms,  and  shipwreck,  and 
captivity,  and  all  the  evils  which  we  heard,  I  feai 
too  truly,  had  befallen  you  !" 


I 


jj>^ 

■-"■?*, 


198 


RIVALS  OF  ACADIA. 


S 


I 


"  Report,  I  perceive,  has  at  least  multiplied  my 
misfortunes,"  he  answered,  smiling  ;  "  I  have  been 
in  no  danger  from  the  sword  or  prison,  and,  though 
the  tempest  treated  my  poor  vessel  roughly,  thanks 
to  its  mercy  !  we  all  escaped  with  life,  and,  there- 
fore, have  no  reason  to  complain." 

"  That  dreadful  night  and  day  !"  said  Lucie, 
with  ir  shudder ;  "  did  I  not  tell  you.  Stanhope, 
that  a  storm  was  gathering  .'*  and  when  we  stood 
together  on  this  very  spot,  and  I  pointed  to  the 
heavy  clouds,  and  sullen  waves,  you  only  smiled  at 
my  fears,  and  paid  no  heed  to  my  predictions !" 

"  I  knew  not,  then,  that  you  were  so  skilled  in 
reading  the  mystery  of  the  clouds,"  he  answered : 
"  and  if  I  had,  dear  Lucie,  I  fear  that  knowledge 
vtrould  have  availed  me  little ;  my  honor  was  pledged 
in  the  undertaking,  and  I  could  not  delay  it,  even 
to  gratify  the  wishes,  which  you  urged  with  so 
sweet  a  grace,  and  an  interest  so  flattering." 

"  Well,  let  it  pass,"  she  replied  ;  '*  you  are  safe 
again,  and  we  need  not  the  tempest's  aid  to  enhance 
the  sunshine  of  this  moment.  And  now  tell  me, 
where  you  have  left  my  uncle,  and  De  Valette,  and 
all  who  went  out  with  you,  in  such  a  gallant  s'.iow  r 
and  why  you  have  returned  alone,  or  only  with 
that  dreaded  priest,  who  seems  to  traverse  earth 
and  sea,  like  a  spirit,  gifted  with  ubiquity  .'"' 

"  But  this  dreaded  priest,  Lucie,  whom  you  re- 
gard with  so  much  fear,  appears  inclined  to  use 
iis  mysterious  influence  for  benevolent  purposes : 


BIVAL8   or  ACADIA. 


199 


;  purposes : 


and  Mons.  de  la  Tour  is  certainly  much  indebted  to 
his  exertions  for  being  so  scon  freed  from  imprison- 
ment." 

"  My  uncle  is  free  and  safe,  then  f"  asked  Lucie, 
•'  though,  indeed,  your  looks  before  assured  me  ol 
it ;  and  I  ought  not  to  have  delayed  so  long  im- 
parting the  intelligence  to  my  aunt.  Suffer  me  to 
go,  Stanhope  ;  you  know  not  her  anxiety  !" 

"  You  will  not  leave  me  so  soon,  my  dearest 
girl  ?"  he  asked,  again  drawing  her  arm  through 
his  ;  "  indeed,  it  is  useless  ;  father  Gilbert  has  by 
tiiis  time  reached  the  fort,  and  imparted  all  that 
you  could,  and  much  more,  with  which  you  are  yet 
unacquainted." 

"  But  my  aunt  is  not  there,  Stanhope  ;  I  left  her 
at  Annette's  cottage  ;  and.  J  doubt  not,  she  already 
thinks  it  strange  that  I  have  not  returned :  if  she 
knew  that  I  was  loitering  here  with  you" — 

"  She  would  not  think  it  very  strange,"  inter- 
rupted Stanhope,  smiling,  and  still  detaining  her ; 
"  and,  in  the  happy  tidings  of  her  husband's  safety, 
even  you,  Lucie,  may  be  for  a  time  forgotten. 
If  the  priest  is  mortal,  as  I  must  believe  he  is, 
though  you  seem  to  doubt  it,  he  will  probably  feel 
some  pleasure  in  communicating  good  news,  and 
I  owe  him  this  slight  satisfaction,  for  the  favor  he 
conferred  in  bringing  me  hither." 

"  I  do  not  yet  understand,"  said  Lucie,  "  why 
you  are  here  alone,  or  where  you  have  left  th?  com- 
panions of  your  luckless  expedition  ?  I  hope  yoa 


>     ti 


■}& 


a  5 


200 


RIVALS    OF   ACAUIA. 


K 


have  not  entered  into  a  league  with  tlic  priest,  or 
ucquirctl  any  of  liis  supernatural  powers  ?" 

"  No,  Lucie,"  lie  replied  ;  "  1  shall  long  remain 
contented  with  the  humbler  attributes  of  mortality, 
rather  than  acquire  any  powers  which  can  make 
you  flee  from  me.  The  mystery  is  very  easily 
solved,  as  I  doubt  not,  all  which  pertains  to  the  hoi) 
father  might  be.  Released  from  all  our  difficulties. 
I  left  I'enobscot  Bay,  in  com-pany  with  La  Tour  • 
we  were  vexed  with  head  winds,  tor  a  day  or  two, 
against  wiiich  my  vessel,  being  small,  was  enabled 
to  make  greater  progress,  and  leaving  him  behind, 
J  just  now  anchored  yonder,  waiting  for  the  tide 
to  proceed  up  to  the  fort.  But  I  was  too  impatient 
to  see  you,  to  remain  at  that  short  distance  another 
moment ;  and  as  father  Gilbert  chanced  to  make  lua 
appearance  just  then,  I  availed  myself  of  his  boat 
to  convey  me  here ;  for  he  chose  to  land  at  i\m 
place  instead  of  going  on  to  the  fort.  I  could  not 
j)ass  this  spot  without  pausing  an  instant,  to  recall 
the  moment  when  I  last  saw  you.  I  knew  this  was 
your  favorite  hour  for  walking  ;  and,  smile  if  you 
will,  something  whispered  me,  that  I  might  agaiu 
meet  you  here." 

"  My  solitary  rambles  are  not  always  directed  to 
this  spot,"  she  answered,  with  a  conscious  blush ; 
♦'  and  it  was  mere  chance  that  brought  me  here  this 
evening.  But,  perhaps,"  she  archly  added,  "  ab- 
sence has  seemed  so  brief  to  you,  that  you  expected 
io  find  mc  lingering  where  you  left  me  J" 


M'i^s^ 


■.^JiJftf^    ||l  ,  -, 


.  i^r^^^^S^sf--^'' 


RIVALS   OF   ACADIA. 


201 


*•  Absence  from  you  seem  hnef!"  he  said;  "I 
would  that  you  could  read  my  heart,  Lucie  ;  you 
would  there  find  how  dark  is  every  hope,  how 
cheerless  every  scene,  how  lengthened  every  mo- 
ment, which  is  not  shared  with  you  !  Deem  me  not 
presumptuous,"  he  added,  "  when  \  ask,  why  we 
should  part  again  ?  why  delay  the  fulfilment  of 
those  hopes,  which  you  have  permitted  me  to  che- 
rish, and  doom  me  to  the  misery  of  another  sepa- 
ration !" 

'"  Do  not  urge  me  on  this  subject,  Arthur,"  she 
replied  ;  "  the  reasons  which  I  once  gave  you,  still 
exist  •  nor  can  any  argiiments  diminish  their  force, 
nor  any  motives  induce  me  to  reject  their  influence. 
Nay,  your  brow  is  clouded  now,"  she  added,  smil- 
ing ;  "  as  if  you  thought  ca|)rice  or  coldness  moved 
me  to  refuse  your  wishes  ;  and  yet  your  heart  must 
tell  you,  I  am  right,  and  that  it  is  not  kind  in  you 
to  seek  to  draw  me  from  my  duty." 

"  Convince  me,  first,  that  it  is  your  duty,  Lucie, 
and  I  will  not  urge  you  more  ;  I  will  then  yield, 
cheerfully,  if  I  can,  to  those  scruples  which,  I  con- 
fess, now  appear  to  me  fastidious." 

"  You  are  wilfully  perverse,  Arthur,  but  it  will 
require  more  time  than  I  can  at  present  command, 
to  convert  you  to  my  opinion  ;  you  see,  even  this 
bright  twilight  is  fading  from  us,  and  my  aunt  will 
be  uneasy  at  my  long  absence ;  indeed  you  must 
jiot  detain  me  another  moment." 


I 


i^'fT"  ■  ■  V- '  '■^.■ 


202 


XIVALS    OF   ACADIA. 


:  J 


"You  will  at  least  suil'er  mo  to  go  uitli  you. 
Lucie," — 

*' T  cannot,"  she  interrupted;  "Annette's  cot- 
tage is  near,  and  I  fear  nothing  ;  besides,  here  if. 
my  shaggy  page,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  large 
dog  which  followed  her  ;  "  and  he  is  as  trusty  in  his 
office,  as  any  that  ever  attended  the  steps  of  a  rov- 
ing damsel." 

"  And  he  enjoy?;  the  privilege  of  shewing  hi< 
attachment,"  said  Stanhope,  coloring  ;  "  while  I 
am  restrained,  even  from  those  slight  attentions 
which  common  civility  demand  !  T  am  weary  of  this- 
secrecy,  Lucie,  and  nothing'  but  your  urgent  wisii 
could  have  compelled  me  to  endure  it  so  long!" 

"  My  prohibition  is  now  withdrawn,"  she  replied; 
"  not  because  you  have  borne  it  with  so  much 
patience,  but  because  my  aunt  detected  the  secret, 
and  drew  from  me  a  confession,  which,  in  truth,  1 
should  have  made  voluntarily,  had  I  not  feared  it 
might  involve  her  in  my  guardian's  displeasure." 

"  And  that  smile,  dear  Lucie,  assures  me,  that 
the  avowal  was  not  ill-received." 

"  My  smile  is  deceptive  then,"  she  answered : 
"  no,  Arthur,  unjust  as  it  may  appear  to  you,  as  it 
most  certainly  does  to  me,  my  aunt  is  vexed  and 
disappointed  at  what  she  chooses  to  consider  my 
perverse  inclinations  ;  and  though  I  am  persuaded 
she  would  never  interpose  her  authority  to  prevent 
my  wishes,  her  consent  to  them  will  not  be  very 
readily  obtained.     You  were,  but  just  now,  the 


■  *\*-*<"(iir  »  »    ''^ 


.a!0^\W^- 


..mq;.  ....^^,-^^jP«SR^^ 


RIVALS  OF   ACADIA. 


20J 


Hibjcct  orour  conversation,  and  T  left  licr  displeased 
with  the  opinions  I  had  ventured  to  express  ;  I  fear 
your  unexpected  appearance  with  me  so  imme- 
diately after,  might  not  he  well  received,  and  this 
is  my  sole  objection  to  your  returning  with  me." 

"  I  have  certainly  no  wish  to  obtrude  myself  in 
any  place,"  said  Stanhope ;  "  and  particularly  where 
my  presence  could  excite  displeasure  against  you  : 
and,  though  I  feel  convinced  that  the  sentiments 
imbibed  against  me  are  most  unjust,  yet  if  your 
favor,  your  affection  may  1  add,  dear  Lucie,  sur- 
vive their  influence,  I  will  not  repine  at  that  injus- 
tice which  gives  an  added  proof  to  its  strength  and 
constancy." 

"  I  thought  it  was  already  proved  beyond  a 
doubt !"  she  answered  ;  "  surely  that  regard  which 
time,  and  almost  hopeless  absence,  could  only  ren- 
der more  devoted  and  enduring  cannot  be  endan- 
gered by  the  assaults  of  idle  prejudice. or  the  lures 
of  mercenary  ambition  !  My  heart  is  more  credulous 
in  its  faith  than  your's,  Arthur ;  and  no  jealous  fear 
could  ever  lead  me  to  distrust  the  truth  and  fervor 
of  that  love  which  you  have  pledged  to  me  !" 

"  And,  think  you,  dearest  girl,  that  I  repose  less 
confidence  in  you  ?  that  1  can  doubt  the  heart  in 
which  is  treasured  every  hope  and  fond  affection 
of  my  soul  ?  From  you,  pure  and  disinterested  as 
you  are,  I  have  nought  to  fear ;  but  I  cannot  look 
upon  the  dreary  blank  of  absence,  and  not  feel  all 


1 

11 


fl 


k 


204 


RIVALS   OF   ACADIl. 


'^1% 


the  misery,  the  thousand  nameless  ills,  which  tlia» 
one  word  comprises !" 

"  Speak  not  of  it,  Arthur  ;  it  is  not  wise  to  fancy 
evils  which  may  never  have  existence,  or  which,  if 
they  are  in  store  for  us,  Providence  has  wisely 
hidden  from  our  view.  You  see  that  T  am  strong 
in  courage,  and  too  chary  of  my  present  happiness, 
to  sutler  one  gloomy  cloud  to  shade  its  fleeting 
brightness  I" 

"  Fleeting,  indeed  !"  he  answered,  "  another  day. 
or  two,  at  most,  and  if  you  still  decree  it,  we  part 
for  many  long  and  tedious  month;;  I" 

"  So  soon  !''  said  Lucie,  her  cheek  changing 
with  emotion ;  "  so  very  soon,  Arthur .''  why  this 
unexpected  haste,  tliis  quick  departure  .'"' 

"  You  cannot  ask  me  to  remain  here,  Lucie,  when 
to  all  but  you,  my  presence  is  a  burthen ;  when 
every  other  eye  meets  me  with  a  coldness  and  dis- 
trust, which,  even  for  your  sake,  I  cannot  longer 
endure  !  La  Tour  but  ill  concealed  his  feelings 
while  ho  thought  my  services  might  be  useful  to 
him  ;  but  now,  I  can  no  longer  aid  his  cause,  and 
I  will  not  tax  him  even  for  the  poor  civility  he  has 
so  grudgingly  be  -towed  !" 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Lucie  ;  "  and  under  such 
circumstances  I  cannot  even  wish  you  to  prolong 
your  stay  ;  but  when  we  next  meet,  Arthur" — 

"When  we  next  meet,  Lucie.'*  would  that  we 
were  not  to  part !  that  I  could  now  prevail  on  yoii 


eA-     I 


-'^l^^^^'^'^- 


BIVAXS   OV  ACADIA. 


205 


to  unite  your  fate  with  mine,  and  shun  the  contin- 
gencies of  another  dreaded  separation  !" 

"  It  is  in  vain  to  ask  it,  Arthur,"  she  repHed  ', 
''  it  would  only  hasten  the  opposition  and  strife  of 
angry  fecHngs,  which  I  would  not  provok  till  I 
feel  at  liberty  to  obey  the  dictates  of  my  own  will. 
My  guardian  has  now  a  right  to  prevent  my  choice, 
and  I  have  no  doubt  he  would  exercise  it  to  the 
utmost;  but  when  I  am  freed  by  law  from  his 
authority,  he  will  cease  to  importune  me  on  a  sub- 
ject so  entirely  unavailing.  My  promise  also  is 
pledged  to  my  aunt,  that  I  will  not  even  enter  into 
an  engagement  without  her  sanction,  before  that 
period." 

"  And  what  is  her  object  in  requiring  this  pro- 
mise .?"  asked  Stanhope ;  "  is  it  not  in  the  hope 
that  she  shall  prevail  with  you,  in  my  absence,  to 
become  the  wife  of  De  Valette  .?" 

"  Perhaps  it  is,"  said  Lucie ;  "  but  do  not  suffer 
this  idea/to  give  you  one  moment's  uneasiness  ;—i 
no,  Arthur,  believe  me,  neither  threats  nor  entrea- 
ties can  change  the  purpose  of  my  mind,  or  diminish 
that  affection,  which  will  ever  remain  as  fervent 
and  unchanged,  as  if  the  most  sacred  promise  was 
given  to  pledge  my  fidelity,  or  the  most  holy  vows 
already  united  our  destinies." 

At  that  i^oment  they  reached  a  green  pathway, 
leading  to  Annette's  cottage  ;  and  Lucie  again  re- 
minding Stanhope  that  he  must  leave  her,  he  felt 

18 


266 


BITALS  OV  AOADIA. 


compelled,  reluctantly,  to  turn  into  another  direc- 
tion, and  pursue  his  lonely  way  to  the  fort. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  in  the  mean  time,  had 
scarcely  heeded  Lucia's  protracted  absence,  as  she 
sat  at  the  cottage  door,  enjoying  the  fragrance  and 
beauty  of  the  evening,  which  her  late  confineme!  t 
rendered  peculiarly  gratefu'  '  he  last  glow  ot 
twilight  faded  slowly  away,  and  the  falling  Uews 
began  to  remind  her,  that  she  had  already  lingered 
beyond  the  bounds  of  prudence.  She  was  surpris- 
ed that  Lucie  stayed  so  inconsideratel  ,  and  at 
length  bocame  seriously  uneasy  at  her  delay.  But 
Ik  r  enxiety  was  for  a  time  diverted,  by  the  appcar- 
ar.ce  of  Jacques,  who  came  in  haste  from  the  fort, 
with  the  intelligence  which  father  Gilbert  had  just 
communicated,  that  La  Tour  was  at  liberty,  and 
then  on  his  homeward  voyage. 

Mad.  de  la  Tour  immediately  left  the  cottage, 
persuaded  that  Lucie  must  have  returned  without 
her.  She  had  not  proceeded  far,  when  she  encoun- 
tered father  Gilbert,  walking  with  his  usual  slow 
and  measured  steps,  and  a  countenance  perfectly 
abstracted  from  every  surrounding  object.  She 
had  never  spoken  with  the  priest,  for  her  peculiar 
tenets  led  her  to  regard  his  order  with  aversion  ; 
nor  had  she  before  particularly  noticed  him.  Sho 
jiow  saw  in  him  only  the  messenger  of  her  hus- 
band's freedom ;  and,  eager  to  make  more  particu- 
lii  inquiries,  she  hastily  approached  him,  though 
with  a  degree  of  reverence  which  it  was  impossible 


?3tei*t»(.. 


■  pim^e^'- 


RIVALS   OF  ACADIA. 


207 


tor  any  one  to  avoid  feeling  in  his  presence.  The 
priest  stopped,  on  finding  his  progress  thus  imped- 
ed, and  looked  coldly  on  her ;  but  gradually  his  ex- 
pression changed,  the  blood  rushed  to  his  face,  and 
a  sudden  brightness  flashed  from  his  piercing  eyes. 
The  lady,  engrossed  by  her  own  feelings,  did  not 
observe  the  change,  but,  in  a  tone  of  anxious  in- 
quiry, said, 

"  Holy  father,  you  are  a  messenger  of  good  tid- 
ings, and  I  would  crave  the  favor  of  hearing  them 
confirmed,  from  your  own  lips !" 

With  startling  energy,  the  priest  seized  her  hands, 
and  fixing  his  eyes  wildly  on  her,  exclaimed, 

"  Lady,  who  are  you  ?  speak,  I  conjure  you, 
while  I  have  reason  left  to  comprehend !" 

"  I  am  the  wife  of  Mons.  de  la  Tour,"  she  an- 
swered, terrified  by  his  strange  conduct,  and  vain- 
ly striving  to  free  herself  from  his  grasp. 

"  The  wife  of  Mons.  de  la  Tour  !"  he  repeated  ; 
•'  no,  no,  you  are  not ; — you  would  deceive  me,"  he 
added,  vehemently  ;  "  but  you  cannot ;  those  fea- 
tures ever,  ever  haunt  me  !" 

"  For  whom  do  you  mistake  me  ?"  asked  Madame 
de  la  Tour,  with  recovered  self-possession,  but  still 
deadly  pale. 

"  Mistake  you  !"  he  answered,  with  a  shudder ; 
"  no,  I  know  you  well — I  thought  you  would  return 
to  me !  you  are" —  he  lowered  his  voice,  almost  to 
a  whisper,  and  spoke  with  calm  emphasis,  "  you 
arc  Lucih  Vdliers !'' 


H 


B 


208 


BITALS  07  AOADfl. 


"  My  God  !"  exclaimed  Mad.  de  la  Tour,  "  who 
are  you  ?  No,"  she  quickly  added,  '*  I  am  not  Lucie 
Villicrs,  but  I  am  the  sister  of  that  most  injured 
and  unhappy  lady." 

"  Her  sister !"  said  the  priest,  striking  his  hand 
upon  his  forehead,  with  a  perplexed  air  ;  "  I  thought 
it  was  she  herself ;— yet,  no,  that  could  not  be.  Her 
sister  !"  he  repented,  wildly ;  "  and  do  you  not 
know  me  ^  not  know  the  wretched,  miserable  Do 
Courcy  f** 

A  piercing  cry  from  Madame  de  la  Tour  follow- 
ed these  words,  and  attracted  the  attention  of  Jac- 
ques, who  was  standing  before  his  cottage  door. 
He  Hew  to  assist  his  lady,  but,  before   he  reached 
Iter,  she   had  sunk,  senseless,  on  the  ground,  and 
father  Gilbert  was  stant   ng  over  her,  with  clasped 
bunds,  and  a  countenance  fixed  and  vacant,  as  if 
deserted  by  reason.     Jacques  scarcely  heeded  him, 
in  his  concern  for  Mad.  de  la  Tour  ;  he  raised  her 
gently  in  his  arms,  and  hastened  back  to  the  cot- 
tage, to  place  her  under  the  care  of  Annette  ;  when 
bv2  returned,  soon  after,  to  look  for  the  priest,  he 
had  disappeared,  and  no  traces  of  him  were  found 
in  the  fort  or  neighborhood, 


\    ^»: 


SIVAXg   OF   ACADIA. 


309 


CMAFTBB   ZVZU. 


•*  How  hast  thou  charm'il 
''  The  wildnctis  of  tlio  waves  and  rocks  to  this  ? 
"  That  tliiis  relenting  they  have  giv'n  thee  back 
'*  To  earth,  to  light  and  life." 


LuciK,  immediately  after  parting  with  Stonliope, 
ciianccd  to  meet  fatiier  Gilbert,  as  he  was  hurrying 
from  the  spot  where  he  had  just  held  his  singular 
interview  with  Madame  dc  la  Tour.  She  avoided 
him,  with  that  instinctive  dread  of  which  she  could 
never  divest  herself  on  seeing  him ;  and  he  passed 
on,  without  appearing  to  notice  her,  but  with  a  ra- 
pidity too  unusual  to  escape  her  observation.  She 
found  Annette's  quiet  cottage  in  the  utmost  confu- 
sion, occasioned  by  the  sudden  illness  of  Madame 
dc  la  Tour,  who  had  then  scarcely  recovered  from 
her  alarming  insensibility.  Lucie  hung  over  her 
with  the  most  anxious  tenderness,  and  her  heart 
bitterly  accused  her  of  selfishness,  or,  at  best,  of 
inconsidcration,  in  having  been  induced  to  prolong 
her  absence.  But  hei  aunt  did  not  allude  to  it, 
even  after  her  consciousness  was  entirely  restored ; 
she  spoke  lightly  of  her  indisposition,  attributing  it 
entirely  to  fatigue,  though  her  sad  and  abstracted 

18* 


aio 


RITAX.S   OV   AOADtA. 


countenance  showed  tlmt  her  mind  was  cngrossod 
by  some  painful  subject.  She  made  no  mention  ol" 
father  Gilbert;  and  Lnci^,  of  course,  did  not  feci  at 
liberty  to  alhido  to  him,  though  Annette  had  told 
her  of  their  conference,  and  her  curiosity  and  inter- 
est were  naturally  excited  to  learn  the  particulars. 
It  co»ild  not  but  surprise  her,  that  Mad.  de  la  Tour 
should  have  been  in  earnest  conversation  with  the 
priest  ;  lor  she  had  always  shunned  him,  and  ever 
treated  liUcie's  fears  as  some  strange  deception  ol 
the  imagination. 

M.  dc  la  Tour  returned  late  in  the  evening  ol' 
that  day  ;  but  the  shock  uhieh  his  lady  had  receiv- 
ed, whether  mental  or  physical,  again  confined  her 
several  days  to  her  apartment.  Lucie  was  convinc- 
ed that  this  renewed  indisposition  was,  in  some 
manner,  connected  witii  the  appearance  of  father 
Gilbert.  Siic,  at  length,  ventured  to  speak  of  him 
to  her  aunt ;  but  the  subject  evidently  Distressed 
her,  though  she  confessed  his  peculiar  manners  had 
at  first  alarmed  her  ;  adding,  with  an  attempt  at  gai- 
ety, that  he  was  probably  scandalized  at  being  so 
abruptly  addressed  by  a  female  and  a  heretic. 
With  apparent  indificrencc,  she  also  asked  several 
questions  of  Lucie,  respecting  her  accidental  in- 
terviews with  the  priest;  thus  betraying  a  new  and 
uncommon  interest,  which  strengthened  the  suspi- 
cions of  her  niece.  These  suspicions  were  soon 
»fter  confirmed,  by  casually  learning  that  La  Tour 
'had  himself  made  strict  inquiries  concerning  father 


«   I 


VIVAZ.8   OF  ACATIIA. 


211 


<till)crt;  out  lio  had  withdrawn  hirnNolf,  no  person 
Know  whither ;  though  it  was  suppoHod  to  some  oi' 
tlie  solitary  linunts  he  was  in  the  hubit  of  frequent- 
ing. 

I)ny  after  day  passed  nway,  tlic  subject  was  not 
renewed,  and  other  thoughts  gradually  resumed 
liieir  ascendancy  in  Lucie's  mind.  Stanhope  had 
retumc'l  to  Rnston,  and  previous  to  his  departure 
he  sought  an  interview  with  La  Tour,  and  formally 
rc<|uested  the  hand  of  Lucie.  His  suit  was,  of 
course,  rejprted,  though  with  unexpected  courtesy  ; 
her  guardian  alleged,  that  he  had  other  views  foi 
her,  which  he  considered  more  advantageous ;  but 
rx pressed  the  highest  personal  regard  for  him,  and 
ihc  utmost  gratitude  for  the  services  he  had  so  free* 
ly  rendered.  When  La  Tour,  however,  found  that 
Lucie  was  really  fixed  in  her  attachment  to  Stan- 
hope, and  resolved  against  a  marriage  with  Do 
Valette,  he  could  not  suppress  his  angry  disap- 
pointment ;  and  his  manner  towards  her  became 
habitually  cold,  and  often  severe.  Lucie  deeply 
felt  this  ungenerous  change,  but  without  noticing 
it  in  the  slightest  degree ;  and,  indeed,  it  was  part- 
ly compensated  by  the  kind  attentions,  and  even 
incrnased  affection,  of  her  aunt,  who,  though  not 
perfectly  reconciled  to  her  choice,  no  longer  sought 
to  oppose  it. 

Madame  de  la  Tour  recovered  but  slowly  from 
her  unfortunate  relapse ;  and  De  Valette,  endea- 
voring to  hide  his  mortification  and  chagrin,  under 


i\\ 


"ST'.STErr 


.^12 


RIVALS   OF   AOABIA. 


an  assumed  reserve,  was  no  longer  the  gay  and 
constant  companion  of  Lucie's  amusements  and 
pursuits.  She  was  thus  left  much  alone  ;  but,  for- 
tunately for  her,  she  possessed  abundant  springs  of 
happiness  in  the  resources  of  her  own  mind,  and 
the  unclouded  gaiety  of  her  spirits ;  and  every  lone- 
ly hour,  and  each  solitary  spot,  glowed  with  the 
bright  creations  of  hope,  or  responded  to  the  thrill- 
ing chords  of  memory.  All  h'"»"  favorite  walks  hr.d 
been  shared  with  Stanhope  ;  there  was  scarcely  a 
tree  which  had  not  sheltered  them  ;  and  eve«y  gush- 
ing stream,  and  forest  dell,  even  the  simplest  flow- 
er which  spread  its  petals  to  the  sun,  breathed  in 
mute  eloquence  some  tale  of  innocent  enjoyment. 
These  scenes,  which  his  presence  had  consecrated, 
where,  in  the  freshness  of  dewy  morn,  at  noontide^ 
sultry  hour,  and  beneath  the  still  and  moonlight 
heavens,  she  had  admired,  with  him,  the  loveliness 
of  nature,  were  now  retraced,  with  the  enthusiasm 
of  a  fond  and  devoted  heart. 

Such  feelings  and  reminiscences  had,  one  day, 
drawn  her  into  the  green  recesses  of  a  forest,  which 
stretched  along  the  river,  at  some  distance  above 
the  fort.  The  familiar  and  oft-frequented  nath^ 
wound  through  its  deepest  shades,  beneath  a  cuno- 
py  of  lof  y  pines,  whose  thickly  woven  branches 
created  a  perpetual  twilight.  She  at  length  struck 
into  a  diverging  track,  and  crossing  a  sunny  slope, 
bared  by  the  laborious  settler  for  future  improve- 
ment, reached  a  steep  bank,  which  declined  gently 


H  ■h 


BITAL9  OF   ACADIA. 


PAS 


10  the  water's  edge.  It  was  one  of  those  cheering 
(lays  in  early  autumn,  which  sometimes  burst  upon 
us  with  th(?  warmth  and  brilliancy  of  summer,  and 
seem,  for  a  brief  space,  to  reanimate  the  torpid  en- 
ergies of  nature.  The  sun  glowed  in  mid-day  fer- 
vor, and  myriads  of  the  insect  tribes,  revived  by  his 
delusive  smile,  wheeled  their  giddy  circles  in  the 
light,  and  sent  their  busy  hum  upon  the  calm,  clear 
air.  T^e  -yild  bee,  provident  for  future  wants,  had 
sai!i*>.d  from  his  wintry  hive,  and  sipped  from  every 
honied  cup,  to  fill  the  treasures  of  his  v  xen  cell  j 
and  a  thousand  birds  of  passage  folded  their  downy 
pmions,  and  delayed  their  distant  flight,  till  bleaker 
skies  should  chill  their  h7elody,  and  warn  them  to 
depart. 

Lucie  threw  herself  on  a  gras  iy  knoll,  beneath  a 
group  of  trees,  completely  sheltered  by  the  broad 
leaves  of  a  native  grape-vine  which  climbed  the 
tallest  trunk,  and  leaping  from  tree  to  tree,  hung 
its  beautiful  garlands  so  thick  around  them,  as  to 
form  a  natural  p.rbor,  almost  impervious  to  the 
brightest  sun-beam.  The  opposite  shore  of  the  ri- 
ver was  thickly  wooded,  chiefly  with  those  gigantic 
pines  for  which  that  province  is  still  famed ;  but  in- 
terspersed with  other  trees,  whose  less  enduring  fo- 
liage was  marked  by  the  approach  of  early  frosts, 
v/hich  had  already  seared  their  verdure,  and  left 
those  rich  and  varied  tints  thai  charm  the  eye  in 
an  autumnal  landscape,  while  yet  too  brilliant  to 
seem  the  presage  of  decay.    The  river  flowed  on 


m 


214 


BIVAL8   OS  ACAOIA. 


its  still  smooth  course,  receiving  on  its  waves  thu 
reflection  of  natuie,  in  her  quiet  but  ever  glorious 
array,  and  mingling  its  faint  murmurs  with  the  busy 
sounds  which  breathed  from  those  countless  living 
things,  that  sported  their  bri*  i,  ^ence  on  its 
banks. 

Not  far  above  the  spot  where  Lucie  reclined  in 
the  luxury  of  dreaming  indolence,  the  river  was 
contracted  by  a  ledge  of  rocks,  through  which  the 
stream  had  worn  a  rough  and  narrow  channel. 
The  full  waters  of  the  noble  river,  arrested  by  this 
confined  and  shallow  passage,  rushed  violently  over 
the  steep  and  craggy  rocks,  and  pouring  their  chaf- 
ed and  foaming  current  into  the  calm  stream,  which 
again  expanded  to  its  usual  width,  produced  a  fall 
of  singular  and  romantic  beauty.  Every  rising  tide 
forced  back  the  waters  from  their  natural  course, 
precipitating  them  into  the  stream  above  with  equal 
rapidity,  though  from  a  less  appalling  height. 
Twice,  in  each  tide,  also,  the  sea  was  on  a  level 
with  the  river,  which  then  flowed  smoothly  over  the 
rocks,  and  at  those  times  only,  the  dangerous  ob- 
struction was  removed,  and  the  navigation  unim- 
peded. 

Lucie  had  remarked  the  waters  as  unusually 
placid,  on  first  approaching  the  bank,  and  she  did 
not  advert  to  this  perpetual  change,  till  their  loud 
and  increasing  murmurs  had  long  fallen  unheeded 
on  her  ears.  Tier  attention  was  at  length  aroused ; 
and  though  $he  had  often  witnessed  it  before,  she 


ce   on  Us 


BIVALS   OF  ACADIA. 


215 


gazed  long,  with  unwearied  pleasure,  upon  the  trou- 
bled stream,  as  it  bounded  from  rock  to  rock,  dash- 
ing with  impetuous  fury,  and  tossing  high  in  air  its 
flakes  of  snowy  foam.  The  report  of  a  fowling 
piece,  at  no  great  distance,  at  length  startled  her ; 
and  a  well-known  whistle,  which  instantly  succeed- 
ed, assured  her  that  the  sportsman  was  De  Valette. 
She  had  wandered  from  the  shade  of  the  grape  vine 
to  obtain  a  more  distinct  view  of  the  falls  ;  but  not 
caring  to  be  seen  by  him,  she  hastily  plunged 
among  a  thicket  of  trees,  which  grew  close  to  the 
water's  edge.  The  place  was  low  and  damp ;  and 
in  looking  round  for  a  better  situation,  her  eye  fell 
on  a  bark  canoe,  which  was  drawn  in  among  some 
reeds ;  and,  without  hesitation,  she  sprang  into  it, 
and  quietly  seated  herself.  It  was  probably  left 
there  by  some  Indian,  who  had  gone  into  the  woods 
to  hunt,  or  gather  roots ;  a  neat  blanket  lay  in  it, 
such  as  the  French  often  bartered  for  the  rich  furs 
of  the  country,  and  several  strings  of  a  bright 
scarlet  berry,  with  which  the  squaws  were  fond  of 
decorating  their  persons. 

Lucie,  in  the  idleness  of  the  moment,  threw  the 
blanket  around  her,  and  twined  some  of  the  ber- 
ries amongst  her  own  jet  black  hair.  She  had 
scarcely  finished  this  employment,  when  she  heard 
quick  approaching  footsteps,  and,  glancing  round, 
saw  De  Valette  pushing  heedlessly  through  brier 
and  bush,  and  Hero  trotting  gravely  at  his  side. 
A  loud  bark  from  the  dog  next  foreboded  a  disca- 


'I 


is? 


' 


II 


"f"!' 


^ 


216 


B1VALS   OF   ACADIA. 


{) 


lit. 
u 


H 


.  ( 


very ;  but  both  he  and  hit;  master  had  halted  on 
the  summit  of  the  bank,  apparently  to  survey  the 
occupant  of  the  boat.  Lucia's  curiosity  was  aroused 
to  know  if  he  would  pass  on  without  recognizing' 
her;  and  busying  herself  in  plaiting  some  reed?, 
which  she  plucked  from  beside  her,  she  broke  into 
a  low  chant,  successfully  disguising  her  voice,  and 
cautious  that  no  words  should  be  distmguished, 
except  one  or  two  of  the  Indian  dialect,  which  she 
had  learned  from  an  old  squaw  who  frequented  the 
fort. 

"  How  now,  my  little  squaw,"  said  De  Valette, 
advancing  a  few  steps  ;  "  have  you  got  cast  away 
among  the  reeds  ?" 

"  I  am  waiting  for  the  tide,  to  take  me  down  to 
the  fort,"  she  answered,  in  such  unintelligible 
French,  that  he  could  scarcely  comprehend  her. 

"  And  what  are  you  so  busy  about :"  he  enquired, 
approaching  nv^-'r,  to  satisfy  his  curiosity. 

" Making  a  basket;  and  I  will  give  it  to  you  for 
some  beads,  when  it  is  done !"  said  Lucie,  in  the 
same  imperfect  jargon,  stooping  her  head  low,  and 
concealing  her  hands  lest  their  delicacy  should 
betray  her. 

But  Hero,  who  had  listened,  and  observed  with 
his  usual  acuteness,  interrupted  the  farce  at  that 
moment  by  springing  to  the  boat,  and  placing  his 
fore  paws  in  it,  he  gently  seized  the  jlanket  in  his 
mouth,  and  pulled  it  from  her  unresisting  shoulders. 
A  bark  of  pleasure  succeeded^  this  exploit,  as  he 


laid  his 
cxpectci 
"  Nov 
V^alette, 
indeed, 
art  of  di 
"  Inde 
said,  smi 
that  you 
do  you 
deceived 
"I  wc 
you  were 
of  bitter 
willingly 
to  detect 
"It  w 
which  hi 
are  but  i 
for  our  o 
"And 
rejoined 
your  sex 
troth,  the 
different 
"I  be 
with  arc 
could  tn 
jiink  of 
^ex,  who 


:i 


RIVALS   OF   ACADIA. 


217 


laid  his  shaggy  head  in  her  lap,  to  receive  the 
expected  caress. 

"  Now,  by  my  faith,  mademoiselle,"  said  De 
V^alette,  coloring  with  mingled  feelings,  "  1  can 
indeed,  no  longer  discredit  your  pretensions  to  the 
art  of  disguise." 

*'  Indeed,  you  have  no  reason  to  do  so,''  she 
said,  smiling  ;  "  though  I  scarcely  thought,  Eustace, 
that  you  had  less  penetration  than  your  dog  !  But 
do  you  remember  what  I  once  told  you; — twice 
deceived,  beware  of  the  third  time !" 

"I  would  not  have  believed  then,  Lucie,  that 
you  were  so  skilled  in  deceit !"  he  said,  in  a  tone 
of  bitterness  ;  but  quickly  added,  carelessly,  "  I 
willingly  confess  that  I  have  not  penetration  enough 
to  detect  the  disguises  of  a  woman's  heart !" 

"  It  would  certainly  be  difficult  to  detect  that 
which  has  no  existence,"  said  Lucie,  gaily  ;  "  we 
are  but  too  guileless,  too  single-hearted,  in  truth, 
for  our  own  happiness." 

"  And  for  the  happiness  of  others,  you  may  add," 
rejoined  De  Valette ;  "  the  boasted  simplicity  of 
your  sex  is  so  closely  allied  to  art,  that,  by  my 
troth,  the  most  practised  could  scarce  detect  the 
difference !" 

'*  I  begin  to  have  faith  in  miracles,"  said  Lucie, 

with  arch  gravity  ;  "  surely  nothing  less  than  one 

could  transform  the  gallant  De  Valette,  the  very 

pink  of  chivalrous  courtesy,  into  a  reviler  of  that 

•^cx,  who" — 

10 


41 


r  ■ 


218 


RIVALS   OF   AOADIA. 


"  Who  are  not  quite  so  faultless  as  my  crcrduiit} 
once  led  me  to  believe  them,"  interrupted  De 
Valettc. 

"  Nay,  if  you  have  lost  your  faith  in  our  infalli- 
bility," she  answered,  "  your  case  is  hopeless,  and 
I  would  counsel  you  to  put  on  the  cowl,  at  once, 
and  hie  away  to  some  dull  monastery,  where  you 
can  rail,  at  leisure,  against  woman  and  her  decep- 
tive attributes.  It  might  form  a  new  and  fitting 
exercise  for  the  holy  brotherhood,  and,  methinks, 
would  sound  less  harshly  from  their  lips,  than  from 
those  of  a  young  and  generous  cavalier." 

"  I  am  not  yet  so  weary  of  the  world  as  to  avail 
myself  of  your  advice,"  he  replied  ;  "  however 
grateful  I  may  feel  for  the  kindness  which  prompts 
you  to  give  it." 

"  I  hope  you  do  feel  more  gratitude  than  your 
looks  express,"  said  Lucie ;  "  for,  though  I  have 
labored  most  abundantly  to  please  you,  I  cannot 
obtain  one  smile  for  my  reward." 

"  You  have  never  found  it  difficult  to  give  me 
pleasure,  Lucie,"  returned  De  Valette  ;  "  though 
unhappily  I  have  been  less  fortunate  in  regard  to 
you." 

"  You  are  petulant  to-day,  Eustace,"  she  said ; 
"  or  you  would  not  accuse  me  so  wrongfully  ;  nay, 
you  have  been  very,  I  mast  say  it,  very  disagreeable 
of  late,  and  followed  your  own  selfish  amusements, 
leaving  me  to  wander  about  alone  like  a  forsaken 


a 


KIVAXS    OF  ACADIA. 


219 


wood-nymph.     Indeed,  it  is  neither  kind  nor  gal- 
lant in  you." 

"  And  can  you  think  T  have  consulted  my  own 
inclinations,  in  doing  so  .'"'  he  asked,  with  vivacity. 
''  Believe  me,  Lucie,  my  heart  is  ever  with^^you, 
and  when  I  have  been  absent  or  neglectful,  it  was 
only  from  the  fear  of  obtruding  those  attentions, 
which  I  thought  were  no  loLTer  prized  by  you." 

"  You  have  done  me  great  injustice,  by  admitting 
such  a  thought,  Eustace,"  she  replied ;  "  and  1 
appeal  to  your  own  conscience,  if  any  caprice  or 
coldness  on  my  part,  has  given  you  reason  to  ima- 
gine that  my  fcClings  toward  you  have  changed." 

De  Valette  colored  highly,  and  paused  a  moment, 
before  he  replied ; 

"  I  have  no  inclination  to  complain,  Lucie,  but 
you  have  long  known  my  sentiments  too  well  to 
suppose  I  could  view  with  inditlbrence  your  ac- 
knowledged preference  for  another,  and  it  was 
natural  to  believe  that  preference  would  diminish 
the  interest  which  I  once  had  the  presumption  to 
hope  you  entertained  for  me." 

"  No  circumstances  can  ever  diminish  that  inte- 
rest. Eustace,"  she  replied  ;  "our  long  tried  friend- 
ship, I  trust,  cannot  be  lightly  severed,  nor  the 
pleasant  intercourse  which  has  enlivened  the  soli- 
tude of  this  wilderness  be  soon  etVaced  from  our 
remembrance  :  believe  me,"  she  added,  with  emo- 
tion,   "  whatever  fate   awaits   my  future  life.,  my 


•220 


llIVAIiS    OF    ACADIA. 


\} 


Jicart  will  always  turn  to  you,   with  the   giatolul 
affection  of  a  siRter." 

"  A  sister !"  l)e  VtUotte  repeated,  witli  a  sigh  ; 
and  the  transient  flusli  faded  from  his  cheek,  winle 
he  stooped  to  caress  the  dog,  which  lay  sleeping  at 
his  feet. 

A  moment  of  embarrassing  silonc(>  ensued,  whicii 
Lucie  broke,  by  asking  De  Vnlette  if  he  was  return- 
ing to  the  fort,  and  prof»osing  to  accompany  him. 

*'  If  the  owner  of  this  canoe  was  here  to  row  us,'* 
she  continued,  "  I  should  like  extremely  to  return 
in  it,  Ihe  water  looks  so  cool  and  inviting,  and  lam 
already  weary." 

•'  It  would  be  madness  to  venture  ngainst  the 
tide,  in  that  frail  vessel,"  replied  De  Valctte  ;  ♦'  and, 
indeed,  Lucie,  I  think  your  present  situation  is  not 
perfectly  safe." 

The  tide  was,  in  fact,  rising  with  that  rnpidityso 
peculiar  to  the  Bay  of  Fundy,  and  which,  of  course, 
extends,  in  some  degree,  to  the  rivers  that  empt} 
into  it ;  and  while  Lucie  occupied  the  canoe,  it 
had,  unnoticed  by  her,  been  nearly  freed  from  the 
reeds,  which,  a  short  time  before,  had  so  effectually 
secured  it.  She  observed  that  a  wider  space  of 
water  separated  her  from  the  land  ;  nnd,  striking 
one  end  of  a  paddle  upon  the  sandy  bottom,  to 
support  her  as  she  rose  in  the  rocking  bark,  she 
reached  the  other  hnnd  to  De  Valelte,  who  stood 
ready  to  assist  her  in  springing  to  the  shore.     A 


RIVALS    OF  ACADIA. 


321 


slight  dizziness  came  over  her,  caused  by  tlie  con- 
stant but  scarce  perceptible  motion  of  the  canoe, 
and  ahinned  on  i'eehng  it  dip  to  the  water's  edge 
as  hIic  was  on  the  point  oF  leaping,  she  pressed  for- 
cibly against  the  oar,  while  the  corresponding  mo- 
tion ol'  her  Ibet  nnpeiled  the  boat  from  the  shore, 
with  a  velocity  which  instantly  precipitated  her  in- 
to the  waves. 

Tiiis  scene  passed  with  such  rapidity,  that  Dc 
V'alette  fancied  her  hand  already  within  his  grasp, 
when  the  giddy  whirl  and  heavy  plunge  struck  upon 
his  senses,  and  tho  Hutter  of  her  garments  caught 
his  eye,  as  the  waves  parted  and  closed  over  her. 
Eustace  was  an  indiiferent  swimmer  ;  but,  in  the 
agony  of  his  terror,  every  thing  was  forgotten  but 
Lucie's  danger;  without  hesitation  he  threw  him- 
self into  the  stream,  and  cxe  2d  all  his  skill  to 
reach  her,  when  she  soon  again  appeared,  floating 
on  with  a  swiftness  which  seemed  every  instant  to 
increase  the  distance  between  them.  He  heard  the 
din  of  waters  rushing  over  the  rocks,  and  knew  that 
he  was  hastening  towards  the  fearful  gulf,  from  the 
loud  and  still  increasing  noise  which  they  sent 
forth,  as  they  dashed  across  the  narrow  channel. 
The  thought  that  Lucie's  fate  was  inevitable,  and 
most  appalling,  if  he  could  not  save  her  before  she- 
reached  that  fatal  spot,  redoubled  his  exertions, 
which,  however,  every  effort  only  rendered  more 
faint  and  ineffectual.    , 

19* 


'K 


ii2 


RIVALS   or   ACADIA. 


Happily  for  Lucie,  extreme  terror  had  deprived 
lier  of  consciousness,  und  she  uus  borne  unresist- 
ingly on  the  rapid  waves,  ignorant  of  the  peril 
which  surrounded  her.  She  already  seemed  within 
the  vortex  of  the  cataract ;  and  its  confused  and 
deafening  clamor  for  an  instant  recalled  her  sens- 
es, and  thrilled  coldly  through  her  heart.  But  she 
was  sudd-^nly  drawn  back  by  a  powerful  grasp,  and* 
when  she  again  opened  her  eyes,  she  was  lying  on 
a  grassy  bank  ;  the  melody  of  the  woods  chimed 
sweetly  around  her,  and  the  distant  tumult  of  the 
waves  fell,  softened  to  gentle  murmurs,  on  her  ear. 
A  confused  recollection  of  danger  and  escape  cross- 
ed her  mind  ;  but  the  feelings  it  excited  were  too 
overwhelming,  in  her  exhausted  state,  and  she  again 
sunk  into  complete  insensibility. 

Lucie  owed  her  recovered  life  lo  the  generous 
exertions  of  an  Indian,  who,  returning  to  his  canoe, 
the  unlucky  cause  of  her  misfortune,  was  attracted 
by  her  perilous  situation.  He  swam  to  her  rescue 
with  a  dexterity  acquired  by  long  and  constant 
practice,  and  reaching  her  at  a  moment  when  death 
seemed  inevitable,  succeeded  in  bearing  her  safely 
to  the  shore.  With  scarcely  a  moment's  respite. 
he  returned  to  the  assistance  of  De  Valette,  who 
was  completely  subdued  by  his  cftbrts,  and  must 
have  sunk,  but  for  the  aid  of  his  faithful  dog.  The 
animal,  with  equal  courage  and  attachment,  perse- 
vered in  holding  him  securely,  and  was,  in  fact. 


dragging  him  t( 
came  to  his  resc 
safety.  His  fin 
Lucie;  and  his 
hanced  by  th(5 
preserver  of  he 
lions  of  the  pon 
lodged,  and  hb( 
and  Lucie. 

When  Lucio 
ly,  she  found  he 
one,  who  seemc 
most  solicitude 
face  ;  but,  a^  lu 
she  started  and 
features  of  fath 
countenance  wi 
eyes  were  cvid 
however,  release 
fully  restored,  i 
remained  stand 
vain  attempted 
cd  to  look  on 
again  approach 
in  a  voice  of  t 
emotion.     Luci 
in  the  powerful 
and  appearance 
manded  an  exf 


RIVALS    OF   ACADIA. 


223 


dragging  him  towards  tlic  shore,  when  the  Indian 
came  to  his  rescue,  and  conveyed  him  to  a  place  of 
safety.  His  first  anxious  incjuiries  were  respecting 
Lucie;  and  his  gratitude  to  liis  dehvcrer  was  en 
hance<l  by  the  knowledge,  that  he  had  been  the 
preserver  of  her  life  also.  The  disinterested  exer- 
tions of  the  poor  Indian  were  most  warmly  acknow- 
ledged, and  liberally  rewarded,  both  by  De  Valettc 
and  Lucie. 

When  Lucie  recovered  from  her  long  insensibili- 
ty, she  found  herself  supported  in  the  arms  of  some 
one,  who  seemed  watching  over  her  with  the  ut- 
most solicitude.  She  at  first  gazed  vacantly  on  his 
face ;  but,  as  lier  recollections  became  more  vivid, 
she  started  and  uttered  a  faint  cry,  recognizing  the 
features  of  father  Gilbert.  The  expression  of  his 
countenance  was  gentle,  even  to  softness,  and  his 
eyes  were  evidently  moistened  with  tears.  He, 
however,  released  her,  on  finding  her  consciousness 
fully  restored,  and  removing  to  a  little  distance, 
remained  standing  in  perfect  silence.  Lucie  in 
vain  attempted  to  speak :  the  priest,  as  he  continu- 
ed to  look  on  her,  became  deeply  agitated ;  he 
again  approached  her,  and  pronounced  her  name 
in  a  voice  of  tenderness,  though  trembling  with 
emotion.  Lucie's  habitual  dread  of  him  was  lost 
in  the  powerful  interest  which  his  altered  manner 
and  appearance  excited  ;  her  imploring  eyes  de- 
manded an  explanation,  and  he  seemed  about  to 


<f= 


I 


>i4 


RlVAtiS    OV   Al!AUlA. 


speak,  wlipu  the  loud  bnrU  of  Horn  >vns  linnnl.  nnti 
lie  l^ouncknl  (owtiids  l»er,  lollowrd  by  Do  \  alclio 
;uul  the  Indinn. 

1'athor  (lilbrvl  lianlily  retired,  and  vns  snon  hid 
ill  ibe  (lier|>  sluwlow  5  of  the  r<.»rest. 


niVAr.s  OF  WAutk. 


'19.:^ 


OMAFTim  XIX. 


•'  Oh  .Tenloiisy  !  tlimi  Imiu'  nf  plposiiie  riiptidsliip, 
'•  TliDii  woiBt  invodfir  of  ournHiultM'  bosoms  j 
'"  How  liorp  lliy  iHiirov  poif^mi  nil  our  softii»>ss, 
••  Ami  tmn  mil  (uriUIc  iiMtinoi  into  liillcriiess.'" 


A  FKW  hours  of  ifpoRo  ro.«i1orcd  liUcie's  cxliausted 
strength  ;  thongli  tho  np|)alling  (luiigor  from  whicli 
she  hnd  boon  so  providontially  rosouotl,  loft  a  far 
more  enduring  iinprcBsion  on  hor  nund.  Tlio  even- 
ing of  that  (hiy  was  soronn  and  cloudless,  and  tho 
hroezo  which  lloatod  from  the  river  had  nothitjg  of 
<ho  chilliness  so  usual  at  that  season.  Lucio  sot  at 
an  o|)cn  window,  her  oyoa  fixed  on  the  curling 
\ttivcs,  which  glanced  hrighlly  laMioath  tho  moon, 
whose  silver  bcuuns  were  blended  with  the  linger- 
uig  rays  of  twilight.  An  expression  of  deep  and 
(iui(>t  thought  marked  her  counteiuuice,  though  tho 
mental  sulfering  she  had  so  recently  endured  might 
still  be  traced  in  her  pale  che(;k,  which  was  half 
shaded  by  tlic  ringlcjts  of  jetty  hair,  that  fell  pro- 
lusely  around  it.  Her  forehead  was  reclined  on 
one  hand,  th(»  other  rested  on  the  head  of  Hero, 
who  sat  erect  beside  her,  as  if  conscious  that  his 


I 


,) 


220 


ntvAiJB  or  At  \iiiA. 


Into  in<rrpi«l  ooiuluct  entitle*!  him  to  peculiar  pr 
vilejjes. 

Mndfiino  do  In  TtniY  was  Rnatetl  at  n  little  d 


is- 


tanee,   removed    IVom   the    esiieut    of*  eveni 


n!»  nil 


wlurli  lier  ticlirate  iH^iltii  would  not  permit  her  to 
inhalo.  and  evulnitly  sulVrrinja:  that  extreme  lassi- 
tude, whieli  nsiially  follows  any  strong  excitement 
Hoth  remained  sdcnt  ;  eaeli  apparently  entjiosspd 
l>y  thoughts  whu'h  'Aw  cared  not  to  eomnnnnealr 
to  the  other.  The  sileneo  was  at  length  al»rii|»ih 
broken,  by  an  exehnnation  IVoni  Lneid,  of"  I'^athn 
tiilberl!'"  uttered  in  an  accent  so  ipiick  and  start- 
ling, that  Mad.  de  la  'Poiir  spran;i  involuntarily 
from  her  musing  posture,  and  even  the  dog  leaped 
on  his  feet,  and  looked  inipiirinsily  in  her  face. 


ti 


Poor  Hero  !    I   did  not  mean  to  (listurb  yi 


m. 


said  Tiueii"^,  patting  her  dumb  favorite,  and  rather 
embarrassed,  that  she  had  unwarily  produced  so 
nmch  cxeit(Mnent. 

"  Father  (iilbert  !"  repeated  T\ta<l.  de  la  Tour; 
"  and  is  he  coming  Inther  again  f 

"  No,  I  saw  him  but  iin  instant,"  said  T.ucie  ; 
"and  he  has  now  disappeared  behind  tlu^  wall." 

She  he^itat(>d.  and  stdl  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on 
her  aunt's  face,  as  if  wishing  to  ask  some  question, 
which  she  yet  (eared  nnght  not  be  well  recciveil. 

"  What  wovdd  you  say,  l.ucicr"  asked  Mad.  de 
hi  Tour,  with  a  faint  smile  ;  "  I  perceive  there  i« 
something  on  your  mind,  which  vou  would  fain  un- 


eic,  she  r 
will  be  dec 
of  this  day 


mVALH    OF    ACAllt\. 


337 


Uurlhoii ;  uikI  wliy  sliould  you  lioHituto  to  apeak  it 
lo  inr  f" 

•'  I'eiliaps  it  is  nii  i<IIo  cmiosity,  dj-nr  nuiit,"  rIio 
iP|)li(Ml;  "  \}[\{  ycni  asked  11  liitlicr  (iilhrit  was  rorri- 
iiig  liithcr  iignin,  as  tliougli  lio  had  already  l»ooii 
iiorc  ;  and,  f  conlV^ss,  I  am  anxious  to  Icnrii  if  1 
uiidoistood  you  coiicclly  ?" 

"  Y«)'»;did,  liUcie  ;  and  ynu  vvdl  he  more  snr|nis('d 
when  I  assiue  yon,  that  I  held  a  Njuj;  eonrcrenco 
with  him  this  moiiung  ;  one  too^  in  whicli  i/ou  arc 
particularly  conrerned." 

•'  y  concerned  !  j/ou  hold  a  eonlbrenco  with  father 
(iilbert!"  sai<l  Lucie,  in  unCeiiined  astonishment; 
"  deurcHt  aunt,  I  tritreat  you  to  explain  yourself." 

•'  The  explanation  must  lujcessardy  be  long,  Lu- 
eie,"  she  replied  ;  "  and  as  I  know  yonr  feelings 
will  he  deeply  excited,  I  fear  the  agitating  events 
of  this  day  have  scarcely  left  ytni  strength  and 
spirits,  to  hear  the  recital.     To-morrow" — 

'•  Oh,  now.  dear  aunt !"  interrupted  liUcie  ;  "  I 
am  well,  indeed,  and  can  hear  any  thing  better  than 
suspense.  1  too,  have  seen  the  p'iest  to-day,  and 
his  look, — his  manner  was  so  changed,  yet  still  so 
unaccountable,  that  he  has  not  been  since  one 
instant  from  my  mind." 

"  Where  did  you  see  him,  liUcie  ?"  asked  Mad. 
(le  la  Tour;  ••  and  why  should  you  conceal  the  in- 
terview from  me  ?" 

Lucie,  who,  till  this  incidental  recurrence  to 
father  (Gilbert,  had  avoided  mentioning  even  his 


,    ■ 


!;(  ,  ,: 


'    '1 


I  I  ■ 


228 


niVALS    OV   ACADIA. 


name,  since  she  found  the  subject  so  embarrassin"^ 
to  her  aunt,  gladly  relieved  her  mind,  by  relatino 
the  particulars  of  her  rencontre  with  him  in  the 
morning,  and  described  the  deep  interest  with  which 
he  seemed  to  be  watching  her  recovery.  Madame 
de  la  Tour  listened  attentively  to  her  recital,  but 
apparently  without  surprise ;  and  after  a  short  pause, 
which  was  evidently  employed  in  painful  reflection, 
she  said, 

"  It  is  time  that  all  this  mystery  should  be  ex- 
plained to  you,  Lucie;  for,  what  I  have  so  long 
attributed  to  the  influence  of  your  imagination,  is 
now  more  rationally  accounted  for,  though  until  a 
few  hours  since,  I  was,  myself,  ignorant  of  many 
facts,  which  I  am  about  to  relate  to  you.  But  I 
miist  first  beg  you  to  close  the  window  ;  the  air 
grows  cool,  and  I  should  also  be  loath  to  have  our 
discourse  reach  the  ea^s  of  any  loiterer." 

Lucie  obeyed  in  silence  ;  and  drawing  her  chair 
closrr  to  her  aunt,  she  prepared  to  listen,  with 
almost  breathless  attention. 

"  I  must  revert  to  the  period  of  your  mother's 
marriage,  Lucie,"  said  Madame  de  la  Tour,  "  and, 
as  briefly  as  possible,  detail  those  unhappy  circum- 
stances which  so  soon  deprived  you  of  her  protect- 
ing love.  You  will  no  longer  be  surprised  that  I 
have  repressed  your  natural  curiosity  on  this  sub- 
ject; for  it  must  excite  many  painful  feelings,  which 
I  would  still  spare  you,  had  not  a  recent  discover} 
rendered  the  disclosure  unavoidable." 


BIVALS   or  ACADIA. 


229 


"  The  subject  agitates  you,  my  dear  aunt,"  said 
Lucie,  observing  her  changing  complexion  with 
anxiety  ;  "  you  are  indeed  too  ill,  this  evening,  to 
make  so  great  an  exertion,  and  I  had  far  rather 
wait  till  another  day,  when  you  will  probably  be 
better  able  to  bear  it." 

"  No,  I  am  well  now,"  she  replied ;  "  and  \'i\\ 
not  keep  you  any  longer  in  suspense."  She  then 
resumed, 

"  Your  mother,  Lucie,  had  the  innocence  and 
purity  of  an  angel ;  she  was  gay,  beautiful,  and 
accomplished, — the  idol  of  her  friends,  the  admira* 
tion  of  all  who  saw  her.  That  picture,  which  you 
so  often  gaze  on  with  delight,  is  but  a  faint  resem- 
blance of  what  she  was.  The  lineaments  are  indeed 
true  to  nature,  but  no  artist  could  catch  the  ever 
varying  expression,  or  imbody  that  unrivalled  grace, 
which  threw  a  charm  around  her,  more  captivating 
even  than  her  faultless  beauty.  She  vras  just  four 
years  older  than  myself,  but  this  difference  of  age 
did  not  prevent  the  closest  union  of  sentiment  and 
feeling  between  us ;  and,  as  she  was  almost  my 
only  companion,  I  early  renounced  my  childish 
amusem«5nts  for  the  more  mature  employments, 
which  engaged  her  attention.  We  lived  much  in 
retirement ;  my  father  was  attached  to  literary  pur- 
suits, and  devoted  himself  to  our  education  ;  a  task 
which  he  shared  with  my  eldest  sister,  who  was 
many  years  our  senior,  and  affectionately  supplied 
30 


(! 


\V 


H 


;  I  1 


J 


230 


BIVAL8   OF  ACADIA. 


^'1 


the  place  of  our  mother,  who  died  a  few  montli^ 
after  my  birth. 

*'  Your  mother,  Lucie,  was  scarcely  sixteen  when 
she  first  saw  Mons.  de  Courcy.  Chance  introduced 
him  to  our  acquaintance,  as  he  was  travelling 
through  the  province  where  we  then  resided  ;  her 
loveliness  attracted  his  admiration,  and  he  soon 
avowed  a  deeper  and  more  impassioned  sentiment. 
Till  then  she  had  never  dreamed  of  love ;  it  was 
reserved  for  him  to  awaken  its  first  emotions  in  a 
heart  susceptible  of  the  most  generous  and  devoted 
constancy,  the  most  fervent  and  confiding  tender- 
ness, exalted  by  a  delicacy  and  refinement,  which 
could  only  emanate  from  a  mind  as  virtuous  and 
noble  as  her  own. 

"  De  Courcy  had  already  passed  the  season  of 
early  youth,  and  his  disposition  and  feelings  were, 
in  many  respects,  extremely  opposite  to  your  mo- 
ther's. His  figure  was  commanding,  his  features 
.  regular  and  expressive  ;  though,  qn  the  whole,  he 
was  remarked  rather  for  the  uncommon  grace  and 
elegance  of  his  deportment,  than  for  any  of  the  pe- 
culiar attributes  of  manly  beauty.  His  manners 
were  cold,  and  even  haughty,  in  h^  ;;;eneral  inter- 
course with  society  ;  but,  with  th(;se  whom  he  lov- 
ed and  wished  to  please,  he  was  gentle  and  insinu- 
ating ;  and  when  he  chose  to  open  the  resources  of 
his  highly  gifted  mind,  his  conversational  talents 
were  more  versatile  and  fascinating,  than  those  of 
any  individual  whom  I  have  ever  knov/ti.    There 


RIVALS  OF  ACADIA. 


231 


w^s  a  cast  of  dc3p  thought,  almost  of  melancholy, 
in  his  countenance,  which  was  ascribed,  I  know 
not  if  correctly,  to  an  early  disappointment ;  but  it 
was  seldom  banished,  even  from  his  smiles,  and  of- 
ten increased  when  all  around  him  seemed  most 
gay  and  happy.  His  feelings,  indeed,  were  never 
expended  in  light  and  trifling  emotions ;  they  were 
strong,  silent,  and  indelible  ;  and  those  who  viewed 
the  calmness  of  his  exterior,  little  dreamed  of  the 
impetuous  passions  which  slumbered  beneath,  and 
which  he  was  accustomed  to  restrain  by  the  most 
rigid  and  habitual  self-command.  Some  of  these 
traits  excited  my  father's  solicitude  for  the  future 
happiness  of  his  daughter ;  but  they  were  overba- 
lanced by  so  many  noble  qualities  and  shining  vir- 
tues, that  no  other  eye  detected  their  blemishes. 
Your  mother  believed  him  faultless;  she  had  given 
him  her  affections,  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  her 
guileless  heart ;  and  he  regarded  her  with  a  devo- 
tion, that  almost  bordered  on  idolatry." 

Madame  de  la  Tour  paused,  and  Lucie,  raising 
her  head  from  the  attitude  of  profound  attention 
with  which  she  listened,  asked,  in  an  accent  which 
seemed  to  deprecate  an  affirmative  answer, 
"  You  are  not  weary,  I  hope,  dearest  aunt.'"' 
"  Not  weary,  Lucie,"  she  replied  ;  "  but  you  must 
sometimes  allow  me  a  moment's  respite,  to  collect 
and  arrange  my  thoughts.  More  than  twenty  years 
have  passed  since  these  events,  yet,  child  as  I  then 
was,  they  made  too  deep  an  impression  on  my  mind 


li) 


J32 


BIVAXS  OF  ACADIA. 


to  be  effaced  by  time ;  and  I  cannot,  even  now,  re 
fleet  on  them  without  emoiion. 

"  I  have  dwelt  thus  minutely  on  your  father's 
character,"  she  continned,  "  that  you  may  be  pre- 
pared for" — 

"  For  what  ?"  interrupted  Lucie  ;  "  surely  all 
these  happy  prospects  were  not  soon  darkened  by 
clouds !" 

"  We  will  not  anticipate,"  said  Mad.  de  la  Tour, 
in  a  voice  slightly  tremulous.     She  again  resumed, 

"  De  Courcy  was  the  younger  son  of  an  ancient 
and  honorable  family.  My  sister's  rank  and  for- 
tune equalled  his  expectations,  her  beauty  gratified 
the  pride  of  his  connexions,  and  the  endearing 
qualities  of  her  mind  and  heart  won  their  entire  ap- 
probation and  regard.  Their  marriage  was  solem- 
nized ;  and  never  was  there  a  day  of  greater  hap- 
piness, or  one  which  opened  more  brilliant  pros- 
pects for  futurity.  De  Courcy  conveyed  his  brido 
immediately  to  a  favorite  estate,  which  he  possess- 
ed in  Provence,  whither  I  was  permitted  to  accom- 
pany them ;  and  six  months  glided  away,  in  the 
full  enjoyment  of  that  felicity  which  their  romantic 
hopes  had  anticipated.  Winter  approached,  and 
your  father  was  importuned  to  visit  the  metropolis, 
and  introduce  his  young  and  beautiful  wife  to  the 
gay  and  elevated  station  which  she  was  expected 

to  fill. 

"  Your  mother,  accustomed  to  retirement,  and 
completely  happy  in  the  participation  of  its  ration- 


RIVALS   OF  ACADIA. 


233 


al  pleasures,  with  one  whose  taste  and  feelings  har- 
monized entirely  with  her  own,  yielded,  with  secret 
reluctance,  to  her  husband's  wishes,  and  exchang- 
ed that  peaceful  retreat,  for  the  brilliant,  but  heart- 
less scenes  of  fashionable  life.  The  world  was  new 
to  her,  and  no  wonder  if  her  unpractised  eye  was 
dazzled  by  the  splendor  of  its  pageantry.  She  en- 
tered a  magic  circle,  and  was  borne  round  the 
ceaseless  course  with  a  raoidity  which  threw  a  de- 
ceitful lustre  on  every  object,  and  concealed  the 
falseness  of  its  colors.  She  became  the  idol  of  a 
courtly  throng  ;  nnets  sung  her  praises,  and  admir- 
ers sighed  around  her.  Her  heart  remained  uncor- 
rupted  by  flattery  ;  but,  young  and  inexperienced, 
buoyant  with  health  and  spirits,  no  wonder  that  she 
yielded  to  the  fascinations  which  surrounded  her, 
or  that  her  thoughts  reverted  less  frequently,  and 
less  fondly,  to  those  calm  pleasures  which  had  on«e 
constituted  her  onl}  happiness.  Her  affection  for 
her  husband  was  undiminished  ;  but  the  world  now 
claimed  that  time  and  attention,  which,  in  retire- 
ment, had  deen  devoted  to  him  ;  and;  engrossed  by 
amusements,  every  intellectual  pursuit  was  aban- 
doned ;  and  domestic  privacy,  with  its  attendant 
sympathies  and  united  interests,  was,  at  length,  en- 
tirely banished. 

"  Dc  Courcy,  chagrined  by  a  change,  which  his 
experience  in  life  should  have  enabled  him  to  fore- 
see, became  melanclioly  and  abstracted  ;  he  often 
!5ochu!cd  himself  from  society,  entrusting  his  wife 

20*  ' 


^r. 


>h 


234 


BIVALS   OP  ACADIA. 


U 


to  some  other  protection,  or,  when  induced  to  en- 
ter scenes  which  had  become  irksome  to  him,  he 
watched,  with  jealousy,  even  the  most  trifling  at- 
tentions that  were  offered  her.  He,  who  possessed 
such  a  heart,  should  never  have  doubted  its  truth, 
or  wounded  her  affection  by  distrusting  its  fervor 
and  sincerity.  He  had  led  her  into  the  fatal  vor- 
tex, and  one  word  from  him  could  have  dissolved 
the  spell ;  the  slightest  expression  of  his  wishes, 
would,  at  any  moment,  have  drawn  her  from  plea- 
sures of  which  she  already  wearied ;  and,  amid  the 
sweet  tranquillity  of  nature,  they  might  have  regain- 
ed that  happiness,  which  had  withered  in  the  un- 
genial  atmosphere  of  artificial  life.  But  he  was  too 
proud  to  acknowledge  the  weakness  he  indulged ; 
and  when  she  besought  him,  even  with  tears,  to  ex- 
plain the  cause  of  his  altered  conduct,  he  answered 
her  evasively,  or  repulsed  her  with  a  coldness, 
which  she  felt  more  keenly  than  the  bitterest  re- 
proaches. Confidence,  the  strongest  link  of  affec- 
tion, was  broken,  and  the  golden  chain  trembled 
with  the  shock. 

"Nothing  is  more  galling  to  an  ingenuous  mind, 
than  a  consciousness,  that  the  actions  and  feeling;; 
are  misconstrued  by  those  to  whom  the  heart  has 
been  opened  with  that  perfect  trust  and  unreserve, 
which  ought  to  place  them  beyond  the  shadow  of 
suspicion.  Your  mother  deeply  felt  the  injustice 
of  those  doubts ;  and  perhaps,  a  little  natural  re- 
sentment mingled  with  and  augmented  the  pain. 


mVALS   or  ACADIA. 


235 


wliicli  rankled  in  her  inmost  soul.  But,  satisfied  of 
her  innate  rectitude,  and  of  that  true  and  constant 
love,  which  even  unkindness  could  not  weaken,  she 
left  her  innocence  to  vindicate  itself,  and  made  no 
farther  attempt  to  penetrate  the  reserve  which  her 
husband  had  assumed,  and  which  opposed  a  fatal 
barrier  to  returning  harmony.  Experience  in  the 
world,  or  a  thorough  knowledge  of  your  father's  pe- 
culiar disposition,  might  have  suggested  a  different, 
and,  perhaps,  a  moi'e  successful  course.  But  she 
judged  and  acted  from  the  impulse  of  a  sensitive 
and  ardent  mind,  which  had  freely  bestowed  the 
whole  treasure  of  its  warm  and  generous  affections, 
and  could  ill  brook  a  return  of  such  unmerited 
coldness  and  distrust.  Her  conduct  towards  him 
was  marked  by  the  most  unvarying  sweetness,  and 
a  studious  deference  to  his  wishes  ;  they,  however, 
seldom  met,  but  in  a  crowd  ;  for  she  sought  socie- 
ty with  an  eagerness,  which  seemed  the  result  of 
choice,  while  it  was,  in  reality,  a  vain  attempt  to 
relieve  the  restlessneb>  and  melancholy  that  op- 
pressed her.  In  public,  her  spirits  were  supported 
]>y  an  artificial  excitement,  and  her  gaiety  seemed 
unimpaired ;  but,  when  alone  with  me,  the  con- 
sttint  companion  of  her  solitary  hours,  and  the  sole 
confidant  of  her  thoughts,  she  yielded  to  the  most 
alarming  depression.  Her  health  evidently  suffer- 
ed from  this  disordered  state  of  mind  ;  but  she  ut- 
tered no  complaint,  and  from  her  husband,  particu- 
larly, concealed  every  symptom  of  illness,  and  ap- 


230 


mVAtS   OP   ACADIA. 


^ 


pcarcd  with  her  accustomed  cheerfuhiess.  Strange 
as  it  may  seem,  lier  gaiety  chagrined  him  ;  he  fan- 
cied her  trifling  with,  or  indift'erent  to,  his  huppi- 
ncss,  and  satisfied  with  the  pleasures  which  court- 
ed lier,  without  a  wish  for  his  participation.  He 
little  knew, — for  his  better  feelings  were  warped  by 
Ji  morbid  imagination, — how  gladly  she  would  have 
exchanged  every  other  blessing  for  one  assurance 
of  returning  confidenco  and  affection. 

"  Your  mother's  spirits  faintly  revived,  on  tlie 
approach  of  spring.  She  was  weary  of  dissipation  : 
the  glittering  bubble,  which  at  first  charmed  her 
eye,  had  burst,  and  betrayed  its  emptiness.  She 
liad  a  mind  which  panted  for  the  noblest  attain- 
ments, a  heart  formed  for  the  enjoyment  of  every 
pure  and  rational  pursuit.  Her  thoughts  continu- 
ally reverted  to  ihe  first  happy  months  of  her  union 
with  De  Courcy ;  and  she  impatiently  anticipated 
the  moment,  wlicn  they  should  return  to  those  qui- 
et scenes ;  fondly  believing  that  she  might  there 
recover  her  husband's  love,  and  that  a  new  anil 
most  endearing  .  j  would  bind  him  more  strongl} 
to  her.  These  soothing  hopes  beguiled  many  an 
heavy  hour  -  and,  but  for  one  fatal  error,  one  dead- 
ly passion,  iiiey  might  have  been  fully  realized!" 

Madame  de  la  Tour  abruptly  stopped,  overcomi 
by  the  painful  recollections  which  crowded  on  her 
mind  ;  Lucie  looked  at  her  with  tearful  eyes,  but 
offered  no  remark  ;  and  both  remained  silent  foi 
itevw/al  minutes. 


IlIVALS   OF   ACADIA. 


237 


OHAPTEA   XZ. 


What  deep  wouiuls  over  closed  without  a  scar :' 

The  heart's  bleed  longest,   and  but  heal  to  wear 

'Pliit  whicli  disfi'uresit ;  and  thpy  who  war 

With  their  own  hopes,  and  have  been  vanquiihM,  bear 

Silence,  but  not  subinission. 

Lord  Btron. 


Madami:  dc  la  Tour  at  length  proceeded: — "I 
have  already  told  you,  Lucie,  that  De  Courcy  view- 
ed, with  uneasiness,  the  homage  which  was  paid 
your  mother,  though  it  did  not  exceed  the  usual 
devotion  which  Parisian  gallantry  is  wont  to  offer 
at  the  shrine  of  female  loveliness.  Ho  must  have 
expected  \t ;  for  no  one  could  have  been  more 
conscious  of  her  beauty,  or  mure  proud  of  possess- 
ing it.  But  he  persuaded  himself,  that  this  adula- 
tion was  too  grateful  to  her;  his  affection  was. self- 
ish and  engrossing,  and  he  wished  her  to  receive 
pleasure-  from  no  praises  or  attentions  but  his  own. 
She  was,  perhaps,  as  free  from  vanity  as  any  wo- 
man could  be,  young,  beautiful,  and  admired  as 
herself;  and  if  not  indifferent  to  the  admiration 
which  her  charms  excited,  it  was  but  the  natural 
and  transient  delight  of  a  gay  and  innocent  mind  ; 
her  heart  was  ever  loyal  to  her  husband,  and  his 


A 


;f^ 


4m 


238 


RIVAIS   OF   ACADIA. 


society,  his  fond  and  approving  smile,  were  far 
more  prized  by  her,  than  the  idle  homage  of  a 
world. 

"  The  young  Count  de was  an  object  of 

particular  dislike  and  unceasing  suspicion  to  De 
Courcy.  They  were  distantly  related ;  but  some 
slight  disagreement,  which  had  taken  place  at  an 
earlier  period,  created  a  coolness  between  them, 
which  was  never  overcome.  Your  mother  was 
aware  of  this,  and,  had  she  more  closely  consulted 
her  prudence,  would,  probably,  have  avoided  the 
attentions  of  one  so  obnoxious  to  her  husband's 
prejudices.  But  the  Count  was  gay  and  agreeable, 
the  versatility  of  his  talents  amused  her,  and  he 
seemed  to  possess  many  .niable  and  brilliant  qua- 
lities. His  manners  were  courteous  ;  his  attentions 
never  presuming ;  and  there  was  a  frankness  in  his 
address,  which  formed  an  agreeable  contrast  to  the 
studied  flattery  of  others  ground  her.  Yet  even 
the  most  distant  civilities  excited  your  father's  dis- 
trust ;  the  Count  became,  every  day,  en  object  of 
mo'io  '^ecided  and  marked  aversion.,  and  your  mo- 
ther could  not  but  feel  herself  tacitly  imp'  cated  in 
his  displeasure.  Grieved  that  he  could  doubt  hei 
affection,  or  the  rectitude  of  her  heart,  and  relying 
confidently  on  the  purity  of  both,  she  resolved  not 
to  wound  the  Count's  feelings,  by  yielding  to  an  un- 
generous prejudice,  and  her  conduct  and  manners 
therefore  continued  unchanged. 

"  As  spring  advanced,  your  mother  withdrew,  al- 


most enti 


Hi'^Kf    - 


niVALS    OF   ACADIA. 


239 


most  entirely,  from  society ;  but  the  Count  de— — •, 
among  a  few  others,  was  a  privileged  and  frequent 
visitor  at  her  house.  One  morning,  De  Courcy, 
contrary  to  his  usual  custom,  had  urged  her  to  ac- 
company liim  on  some  short  excursion  ;  and,  equal- 
ly surprised  and  gratified  by  the  unexpected  re- 
quest, it  was  with  extreme  reluctance  that  she  felt 
compelled,  from  indisposition,  to  decline  it.  Soon 
after  his  departure,  however,  I  persuaded  her  to 
leave  her  apartment,  for  a  few  moments,  to  look  at 
some  choice  exotics,  which  had  just  been  brought 
to  the  house.     She  was  still  lingering  to  admire 

them,   when  the  Count  de was   announced, 

through  the  negligence  of  a  servant,  who  had  been 
ordered  not  to  admit  any  visitors.  It  was  too  late 
to  retire,  unobserved ;  and  the  usual  greetings  of 
civility  were  scarcely  exchanged,  when  De  Courcy 
abruptly  entered  the  room.  He  started,  on  seeing 
his  wife,  who  had  so  recently  refused  his  request, 
on  the  plea  of  illness,  apparently  well,  and  taking 
advantage  of  his  absence,  to  admit  his  supposed  ri- 
val to  an  interview.  Tale  with  emotion,  he  stood  a 
moment,  as  if  rooted  to  the  spot ;  his  eye,  which 
flashed  with  scorn  and  anger,  fixed  alternately  on 
each  ;  then  deliberately  turned,  and  left  the  house. 
The  Count  had  met  his  gaze  unmoved,  and  with  an 
expression  of  calm  contempt  j  your  mother,  terrifi- 
ed by  the  storm  of  passion  which  his  countenance 
betrayed,  fled  precipitately  to  h  jT  own  apartment, 
ni  as  she  was,  however,  and  trembling  with  appre- 


>  I 


240 


HIVALS   OF   ACADIA. 


I  i 


>t- 


Iiension,  she  exerted  herself  to  appear  at  dinner. 
hoping  that  the  true  explanation  would  appease 
her  husband's  irritation.  Rut  he  met  her  with  a 
gloomy  reserve,  which  destroyed  all  hope  of  con- 
fidence ;  he  did  not  allude  to  what  had  passed ; 
every  trace  of  passion  was  gone,  and  she  felt  re-as- 
sured by  a  deceitful  calm,  that  only  concealed  the 
inward  struggle. 

"  De  Courcy  left  the  house  by  day-light  on  the 
following  morning ;  no  one  knew  whither  he  was 
gone,  but  we  had  heard  him  traverse  his  apartment 
through  the  night,  and  were  confident  he  had  taken 
no  repose.  A  few  hours  of  anxious  suspense  passed 
away,  and  your  mother  had  just  risen  from  her 
sleepless  pillow,  when  he  suddenly  entered  her 
dressing-room.  I  was  alone  with  her,  and  never 
shall  I  forget  the  impression  his  appearance  made 
on  me.  His  dress  was  disordered,  his  countenance 
pale  and  haggard,  and  every  feature  marked  with 
the  deepest  anguish.  Your  mother  rose  with  a 
faint  exclamation,  but  instantly  sunk  again  upon 
her  seat.  He  approached  her,  and  took  her  hands, 
even  with  gentleness,  between  his  own,  though 
every  limb  trembled  with  agitation. 

"  Lucie,"  he  said,  with  unnatural  calmness,  and 
fixing  his  troubled  eye  on  her  face  ;  "  I  come  to 
bid  you  a  long, — long  farewell !" 

"  What  mean  you,  de  Courcy  ?"  she  asked,  with 
extreme  alarm  ;  "  speak,  I  conjure  you,  and  relieve 
this  torturing  suspense  !" 


•«A 


BIVAL3  or  ACADIA. 


241 


"  My  honor  has  been  avenged  !"  he  replied,  with 
a  hoarse  and  rapid  utterance  ;  "  and  from  this 
moment  we  part — forever  !" 

"  Part !  de  Courcy,  my  husband  !"  she  exclaim- 
ed, in  a  voice  of  agony  ;  "  tell  me,  what" — 

"  The  concluding  words  died  on  her  quivering 
lips  ;  the  sudden  conflict  of  strong  emotions  could 
not  be  endured,  and  she  sunk  insensible  on  my 
bosom.  Frantic  with  alarm,  I  folded  my  arms 
around  her,  and,  unwilling  to  sununon  any  wit- 
nesses, attempted  to  recall  her  senses,  by  adminis- 
tering such  restoratives  as  were  fortunately  within 
my  reach.  De  Courcy  looked  at  her  an  instant, 
like  one  bewildered  ;  then  fiercely  exclaimed, 

"  She  loves  himj^!  see  you  not  how  she  loves 
Iiim  ?" 

"  Wretched  man  !"  I  said,  indignantly,  "  you 
have  murdered  her ;  go,  and  leave  us  to  our  misery.*' 

^'  My  words  seemed  to  penetrate  his  heart ;  his 
features  relaxed,  and,  before  I  was  aware  of  his 
design,  he  took  your  mother  from  me,  and  laid  her 
gently  on  a  couch.  The  tide  of  tenderness  had 
rushed  back  upon  his  soul,  and  every  soil  and  gene- 
rous feeling  transiently  revived.  He  stood  over 
her  inanimate  form,  gazing  on  her  with  melancholy 
fondness,  till  the  tears  gushed  freely  from  his  eyes, 
and  fell  on  her  pallid  features.  At  that  moment,  as 
if  revived  by  his  solicitude,  she  half  unclosed  hei 
oyelids,  and  a  faint  glow  gave  signs  of  returning 

21 


J  • 


*■    i      ■ 


1i 


-M-^' 


2A2 


BIVAXS   OF   ACADIA. 


M 


life.  De  Courcy  kissed  her  cold  lips,  and,  murmur- 
ing a  few  words,  which  did  not  reach  my  ear,  he 
gave  one  last  and  lingering  look,  and  turned  preci- 
pitately to  leave  the  room. 

"  I  had  retreated  from  the  couch,  inexpressibly 
affected  by  a  scene,  which  I  fondly  hoped  was  the 
dawn  of  returning  happiness.  He  stopped,  as  he 
was  passing  me,  and,  wringing  my  hand  with  emo- 
tion, pointed  to  your  mother,  and,  in  a  voice  scarce- 
ly audible,  said, 

"  You  love  her,  Justine  ;  comfort  her, — cherish 
her,  as  I  would  have  done, — God  knows  how  fer- 
vently,— had  she  permitted  me.  Farewell,  my  sis- 
ter, forever." 

Madame  de  la  Tour  was  too  much  agitated  to 
proceed,  and  even  Lucie  willingly  suspended  the 
painful  interest  to  indulge  the  natural  emotions 
which  her  parents'  history  excited.  After  a  brief 
interval,  Madame  de  la  Tour  thus  continued  : 

"  You  must  suffer  me  to  pass  rapidly  over  the 
remainder  of  this  sad  tale,  my  dear  Lucie.  It 
was  long  before  your  mother  revived  to  perfect  con- 
sciousness ;  and  the  shock  which  she  had  received 
was  only  a  prelude  to  still  deeper  misery.  The 
conduct  of  de  Courcy  was  too  soon  explained. 
Yielding  to  the  fatal  error,  that  she  had  given  her 

affections  to  the  Count  de ,  in  the  excitement 

of  his  passion,  he  sent  a  challenge,  which  was  in- 
stantly accepted.    They  met ;  and  the  Count  was 


•di. 


^' 


RIVALS   OV  AG AD 11. 


24J 


carried,  as  his  attendants  supposed,  mortally  wound- 
ed, from  the  field  of  contest.  De  Courcy,  however, 
was  spared  the  commission  of  that  crime  ;  for, 
though  the  Count's  life  was  long  despaired  of,  a 
good  constitution  prevailed,  and  he  at  length  reco- 
vered. 

''  De  Courcy  had  made  all  his  arrangements  on 
the  preceding  night ;  and,  immediately  after  his 
interview  with  your  mother,  he  quitted  Paris  for- 
ever. A  letter  was  left,  addressed  to  her,  which 
strikingly  portrayed  the  disordered  state  of  his 
mind,  and  feelingly  delineated  the  strength  of  his 
affection,  and  the  bitterness  of  his  disappointment. 
Robbed,  as  he  believed,  of  her  love,  the  world  had 
no  longer  any  thing  to  attach  him  ;  and  he  resolved 
to  bury  himself  in  some  retirement,  which  the  vain 
passions  of  life  could  never  penetrate. 

"  I  will  pass  over  the  agonizing  scenes,  the 
months  of  wretchedness  which  succeeded  this  sepa- 
ration, this  sudden  dissolution  of  the  most  sacred 
and  endearing  ties.  All  attempts  to  discover  De 
Courcy's  retreat  were  unavailing,  though  it  was 
long  before  your  mother  could  relinquish  the  delu- 
sive hope,  that  he  would  be  again  restored  to  her. 
We  returned  to  my  father's  house  ;  but  there  every 
thing  reminded  her  of  happier  days,  and  served  to 
increase  her  melancholy.  Your  birth  was  the  only 
event  which  reconciled  her  to  life ;  but  her  healtli 
was  then  so  precarious,  we  dared  not  flattv)r  our- 


1  . 


244 


RIVALS   OF  ACADIA. 


selves,  that  she  would  be  long  continued  to  you. 
Her  physicians  recommended  change  of  air,  and  1 
accompanied  her  to  a  convent  on  the  borders  ot 
the  Pyrenees,  where  she  had  passed  a  few  years  in 
early  childhood ;  and  she  earnestly  desired  to  spend 
her  remaining  days  within  its  peaceful  walls. 

*'  The  good  nuns  welcomed  her  to  their  humble 
retreat,  in  the  midst  of  a  wild  and  romantic  soli- 
tude ;  and,  with  unwearied  kindness  sought  to  alle- 
viate the  sufferings  of  disease.  For  three  months, 
I  watched  unceasingly  beside  her  ;  a  heavenly 
resignation  smoothed  the  bed  of  sickness,  and  her 
wearied  spirit  was  gently  loosed  from  earth,  and 
prepared  for  its  upward  flight.  You  were  the  last 
cord  that  bound  her  to  a  world  which  she  had 
found  so  bankrupt  in  its  promises,  and  this  was  too 
strong  to  be  severed,  but  by  the  iron  grasp  of  deatli. 
As  the  moment  of  her  departure  approached,  she 
expressed  a  wish  to  receive  the  last  offices  of 
religion  ;  and  a  messenger  was  sent  to  a  neighbour- 
ing monastery  of  Jesuits  to  request  the  attendance 
of  a  priest.  One  of  the  brotherhood  soon  after 
entered  the  little  cell,  and  the  nuns,  who  were 
chanting  around  her  bed,  retired  at  his  approach. 

"  I  retreated  unobserved,  to  a  corner  of  the  room, 
fearing  she  would  not  live  through  the  last  confes- 
sion of  her  blameless  life.  A  dim  lamp,  from  which 
she  was  carefully  screened,  shed  a  sickly  gleam 
around  the  apartment ;  and,  even  in  the  deep  silence 


tJ: 


SITALS  OV  ACADIA. 


245 


i 


of  that  awful  hour,  the  low  and  labored  whispers 
of  her  voice  scarcely  reached  my  ear.  Suddenly 
I  was  startled  by  a  suppressed,  but  fervent  excla- 
mation from  the  monk,  instantly  followed  by  a  faint 
cry  from  your  mother's  lips.  I  flew  to  the  bed ; 
she  had  raised  herself  from  the  pillow,  her  arms 
were  extended,  as  in  the  act  of  supplication,  and  a 
celestial  glow  irradiated  her  dying  features.  The 
priest  stood  in  an  attitude  of  eager  attention :  his 
cowl  was  removed  ;  and,  judge  of  my  sensations, 
when  I  recognized  the  countenance  of  De  Courcy  !" 
"  My  father !"  exclaimed  Lucie ;  "  that  priest"— 
"  Wait,  and  you  shall  know  all ;"  interrupted 
Madame  de  la  Tour.  "  That  priest  was  indeed 
your  father ;  he  had  taken  the  vows  of  a  rigid  or^^ 
der,  and  Providence  guided  him  to  the  death-bed 
of  your  mother.  I  pass  over  the  scene  which  fol- 
lowed ;  it  is  too  hallowed  for  description.  Suffice 
it  to  say,  the  solemn  confession  of  that  dreadfut 
moment  convinced  him  of  her  innocence,  and  her 
last  sufferings  were  soothed  by  mutual  reconcilia- 
tion and  forgiveness.  Your  father  closed  her  eyes 
in  their  last  sleep,  and  pressing  you  for  an  instant 
to  his  heart,  rushed  almost  frantic  from  the  con- 
vent. 

"  On  the  following  day,  my  father  sought  De 
Courcy  at  the  monastery,  hoping  to  draw  him  back 
to  the  world  by  the  touching  claims  of  parental 
love.  But  he  had  already  left  it,  never  to  return  ; 
and  the  superior  had  sworn  to  conceal  his  new 
21* 


.'i 


246 


RIVALS   OF   AOADIA. 


abode  from  every  human   being.     Before  leaving 
the  convent,  on  the  night  of  your  mother's  death, 
ho  confirmed  her  bequest,  which  had  already  given 
you  to  my  eldest  sister,  then  a  rigid  Catholic.     But 
my  fattier  soon  after  became  a  convert  to  the  opi* 
nions  of  the  Hi  jonots,  to  which  wo  also  inclined  : 
and  my  sister's  marriage  with  M.  Rosavillo  con- 
iirmed  her  in  those  sentiments.     She  thought  pro- 
per to  educate  you  in  a  faith  which  she  had  adopt- 
ed from  deliberate  conviction  ;  and,  as  your  father 
had  renounced  his  claims,  she  of  course  felt  re- 
sponsible onl;   to  her  own  conscience.     Every  ef- 
fort to   find  'tim,  indeed,  continued   unavailing  ; 
years  passed  away,  and  by  all  who  had  known  him 
he  was  numbered  as  with  the  dead. 

"  But  your  father  still  lived,  Lucid,  and  the  re- 
collection of  his  injured  wife  forever  haunted  him ; 
her  misery,  her  untimely  death,  all  weighed  heavily 
on  his  coni^cicno,  and  he  sought  to  expiate  his 
crime  by  a  ii^c  rtf  at^sterity,  and  the  most  constant 
and  painful  acts  of  E>olf-denial  and  devotion.  Yet 
the  severest  pemkace  which  he  inflicted  on  himself 
was  to  renounce  his  child,  to  burst  the  tics  of  natu- 
ral affection,  that  no  earthly  claims  might  interfere 
with  those  holy  duties  to  which  ho  had  consecrated 
his  future  life." 

*'  Just  heavens  !'*  said  Lucid,  with  emotion  ; 
«<  could  such  a  sacrifice  be  exacted  ?  dearest  aunt, 
tell  mc  if  he  yet  lives,  if  I  am  right" — 


1I1VAL8   07   ACADIA. 


247 


•'  He  docs  live,"  interrupted  Madame  do  la  Tour ; 
"  he  received  permission  to  quit  his  monastery  only 
to  fulfil  a  more  rigid  vow,  which  bound  him  to  n 
life  of  unremitting  hardship;  and,  after  a  severe 
illness,  that  for  several  weeks  deprived  him  of  rea- 
son, he  at  length  reached  this  new  world,  where 
for  nearly  twenty  years" — 

"  Father  Gilbert  !"  exclaimed  Luci^,  storting 
from  her  seat  in  powerful  agitation. 

"  Yes,*'  said  a  deep,  solemn  voice  ;  and  the  darl< 
form  of  the  priest,  who  had  entered  unnoticed, 
stood  beside  her ;  **  my  child,  behold  your  father  !" 

"  My  father !"  repeated  Lucid,  as  she  rushed  in- 
to his  extended  arms,  and  sunl<  weeping  upon  his 
bosom. 


248 


BIVALS   OF  AGADIA. 


Come,  bright  Improvement !  on  tlie  car  of  Time. 
And  rule  the  spacious  world  from  clime  to  clime  : 
Thy  handmaid  arts  shall  every  wild  explore, 
Truce  every  wave,  and  culture  every  shore. 

Campbem,. 


The  tempered  beams  of  a  September  sun  glanc- 
ed mildly  on  the  quiet  shores  of  the  Massachusetts, 
and  tinged  with  mellowed  hues  the  richness  of  its 
autumnal  scenery.  It  was  on  that  holy  day,  which 
our  puritan  ancestors  were  wont  to  regard  empha- 
tically as  a  "  day  of  rest ;"  and  nature  seemed  hush- 
ed to  a  repose  as  deep  and  expressive  as  on  that 
first  earthly  sabbath  when  God  finished  his  creative 
work,  and  "  saw  that  it  was  very  good."  The  pub- 
lic worship  of  the  morning  was  ended ;  and  the 
citizens  of  Boston  were  dispersing  through  the  dif- 
ferent streets  and  avenues  of  the  town,  to  their  va- 
rious places  of  abode.  The  mass  which  issued 
from  the  portal  of  the  sanctuary  with  grave  and 
orderly  demeanor,  appeared  to  melt  away  as  one  by 
one,  or  in  household  groups,  they  turned  aside  to 
their  respective  dwellings,  till  all  gradually  disap- 


RITALS   OF   ACADIA. 


249 


peared,  and  the  streets  were  again  left  silent  and 
deserted.  9- 

Arthur  Stanhope  had  withdrawn  from  the  crowd, 
and  stood  alone  on  the  margin  of  the  bay,  which 
curved  its  broad  basin  around  the  peninsula  of  Bos- 
ton. He  had  received  no  tidings  from  St.  John's, 
since  the  day  he  quitted  it ;  and,  with  extreme  im- 
patience, he  awaited  the  return  of  a  small  trading 
vessel,  which  was  hourly  expected  from  thence. 
But  his  eyes  vainly  traversed  the  wide  expanse  of 
water ;  all  around  it  blended  with  the  bright  blue 
sky,  and  no  approaching  bark  darkened  its  unruf- 
fled surface.  Silence  reigned  over  the  scene  as  un- 
disturbed as  when  the  adventurous  pilgrims  first 
leaped  upon  the  inhospitable  shore.  But  it  was 
the  silence  of  that  hallowed  rest  which  man  offered 
in  homage  to  his  creator,  not  that  primeval  calm 
which  then  brooded  over  the  savage  wilderness. 
Time,  since  the  day  on  which  they  took  possession, 
had  caused  the  waste  places  to  "  rejoice,  and  the 
desert  to  blossom  as  a  rose."  The  land  to  which 
they  fled  from  the  storms  of  persecution  had  be- 
come a  pleasant  abc  1e ;  and  their  interests  and  af- 
fections were  detached  from  the  parent  country, 
and  flxed  on  ihe  home  of  their  adoption. 

The  tide  of  emigration  ceased  with  the  triumph 
of  the  puritan  cause  in  England  ;  but  the  early  co- 
lonists had  already  laid  deep  the  broad  foundations 
on  which  the  fabric  of  civil  and  religious  liberty 
was  reared.     Prudence  and  persevering  zeal  had 


(t/ 


,/ 


250 


AIYALS   OV   ACADIA. 


conquered  the  first  and  most  arduous  labors  of  the 
settlement ;  and  they  looked  forward  with  piou6 
confidence  to  its  future  prosperity,  firmly  persuaded 
that  God  had  reserved  it  for  the  resting  place  of 
his  chosen  people.  The  rugged  soil  yielded  to  the 
hand  of  industry,  and  brought  forth  its  treasures. 
The  shores  of  the  bay  no  longer  presented  a  scene 
of  wild  and  solitary  ma,^nificence.  Forests  which 
had  defied  the  blasts  of  ages,  were  swept  uway ; 
and,  in  their  stead,  fields  of  waving  grain  hung  their 
golden  ears  in  the  ripening  sun,  read  /  for  the  coming 
harvest.  Flocks  and  herds  grazed  in  the  green  pas- 
tures which  slopfsd  to  the  water's  edge,  or  collected 
in  meditative  groups  b^iieath  the  scattered  trees 
that  spread  their  ample  branches  to  shelter  them. 
The  noble  range  of  hills  which  rose  beyond  ni 
beautiful  inequalities,  girdling  the  indented  coast, 
presented  a  rich  and  variegated  prospect.  Broad 
patches  of  cultivation  appeared  in  every  sheltered 
nook,  and  tracts  of  smooth  mown  grass  relieved  the 
eye  from  the  midst  of  sterile  wilds.  Luxuriant 
corn-fields  fringed  the  borders  of  hanging  v;ood- 
lands,  which  ciothed  the  steep  acclivities ;  and  on 
the  boldest  £  immits  wide  regions  were  laid  bare, 
where  the  adventurous  axe  had  broken  the  dark 
line  of  frowning  forests,  and  prepared  the  way  for 
future  culture.  Here  and  there  a  thriving  village 
burst  upon  the  view,  its  clustering  houses  inter- 
spersed with  gardens  and  orchards  of  young  fruit 
trees. 


i 


RIVALS   OV  ACADIA. 


261 


The  infant  capital,  from  its  central  and  com- 
manding situation,  rose  pre-eminent  above  the  sif- 
ter settlements.  It  had  prospered  beyond  the 
iiopes  of  tlie  most  sanguine,  and  *vas  already  a  mart 
for  the  superfluous  products  of  the  colony.  That 
regard  to  order  and  decorum,  displayed  by  the  ma- 
gistrates in  their  earliest  regulations,  and  a  uni- 
formity in  the  distribution  of  land  for  streets  and 
dwelling  lots,  had  prevented  much  confusion,  as 
the  population  increased.  Its  limits  were  then 
comparatively  narrow ;  man  had  not  yet  encroach- 
ed on  the  dominions  of  the  sea  to  extend  the  boun- 
daries of  the  peninsula.  Where  the  first  wharves 
were  erected,  broad  and  busy  streets  now  traverse 
almost  the  centre  of  the  city ;  and  fuel  was  gather- 
ed, and  wild  animals  hunted,  from  the  woods  that 
grew  in  abjndance  on  the  neck,  which  is  now  a 
protracted  and  populous  avenue  to  the  adjoining 
country.  Extensive  marshes  skirted  the  borders  of 
the  river  Charles,  and  the  three  hills  which  formed 
its  prominent  natural  features  were  steep  and  rug- 
ged cliffs.  One,  indeed,  was  surmounted  by  a 
wind-mill,  which  for  many  years  labored  unceas- 
ingly lor  the  public  good,  and  ably  supplied  a  de- 
ficiency of  water-mills ;  and  another,  which  over- 
looked the  harbor,  was  defended  by  a  few  pieces  of 
artillery ;  thus  curly  betraying  that  jealous  vigilance 
which  has  ever  distinguished  the  people  of  New- 
Cngland.  The  last,  and  most  lefty,  was  still  a 
barren  waste,  descending  into  the  humid  fens  which 


iX 


)  •' 


I  ' 


i52 


BIVALS   OF  AOAIIIA. 


are  now  converted  into  a  beautiful  conimou,  the 
only  ornamental  promenade  which  our  metropolis 
can  boast. 

Improvement  was  for  a  time  necessarily  gradual. 
Religion,  the  only  motive  which  could  have  induc- 
ed such  sacrifices  as  were  made  in  its  cause,  was 
first  established  ;  and  civil  order,  and  the  means  ot 
education,  were  deemed  next  important  by  the  wise 
and- virtuous  founders  of  our  republic.  The  neces- 
saries and  comforts  of  life  were  secured  before  they 
had  leisure  to  think  of  its  embellishments.  Neces- 
sity produced  a  frugal  and  industrious  spirit,  and 
the  wealthiest  encouraged  by  their  example  the 
economy  and  self-denial  of  the  lower  orders.  Ar- 
tisans and  mechanics  soon  found  ample  employ- 
ment, and  various  manufac  tures  were  ingeniously 
contrived  to  supply  the  ordinary  wants  of  the  colo- 
ny. The  natural  products  of  the  soil  gradually 
yielded  a  superfluity,  which  was  exported  to  the 
West  Indian  and  other  islands ; — the  commence- 
ment of  that  extensive  traffic,  which  has  since  rais- 
ed Boston  to  a  high  rank  among  the  commercial 
cities  of  the  world.  It  was  also  sent  in  exchange 
for  the  commodities  of  the  mother  country,  who, 
indulgent  to  her  children  while  too  feeble  to  dis- 
pute her  authority,  then  generously  remitted  those 
duties  which  afterwards  proved  a  "  root  of  bitter- 
ness" between  them.  The  fisheries,  also,  were  even 
then  an  object  of  consideration ;  and  many  found 
employment  in  that  craft,  which  has  now  become 


•^t^ 


BirALS   OT   ACADIA. 


250 


^a  source  of  national  wealth.  Vessels  of  considera- 
ble burthen  were  launched  from  the  shores  of  the 
wilderness,  and  their  light  keels  already  parted  the 
waters  of  distant  seas.  Nations  which  then  viewed 
our  hardy  navigators  with  contempt,  have  since 
seen  their  white  sails  flutter  in  the  winds  of  every 
climate,  and  their  adventurous  ships  braving  the 
dangersof  every  rugged  shore.  The  proudest  have 
acknowledged  their  rights  in  each  commercial  port, 
and  the  bravest  have  struck  unwillingly  to  their 
victorious  flag. 

The  aJvancement  which  the  colony  had  made 
within  fourteen  years  from  its  settlement,  was  in- 
deed surprising.  The  germ  of  future  prosperity 
seemed  bursting  from  its  integuments.  The  prin- 
ciples of  a  free  government  were  established  ;  the 
seed  which  was  "  sown  in  tears,"  though  it  appear- 
ed "  the  least  of  all  seeds,"^  was  preparing  to  shoot 
forth  and  spread  its  branches  into  a  mighty  tree. 
As  yet,  however,  the  future  was  "  hid  under  a 
cloud;"  and  what  had  already  been  done,  could 
only  be  justly  appreciated  by  those  who  acted  and 
suffered  from  the  commencement.  But  the  fruits 
of  their  labor  were  evident,  even  to  the  most  indif- 
ferent obs<vrver  ;  and  Stanhope *s  thoughts  were  for- 
cibly drawn  from  the  subject  of  his  own  anxiety, 
and  fixed  on  the  scene  before  him. 

The  scene,  glorious  as  it  appeared  in  the  simple 
garniture  of  nature,  and  softened  by  the  adorn- 
ments of  art,  charmed  the  eye  and  awakened  the 

22 


^  -.    ■ 


E=ii-ii 


364 


RIVALS   OV  ACADIA. 


enthusiasm  of  a  refined  and  imaginative  mind.  But 
the  high  moral  courage,  the  stern  yet  lofty  impulse 
of  duty,  which  had  achieved  so  great  an  enter- 
prize  ;  which  hnd  burst  the  strong  links  of  kindred 
and  country,  and  exchanged  honor  and  affluence 
for  reproach  and  poverty,  and  the  countless  trials 
of  a  wilderness,  appealed  directly  to  the  best  feel- 
ings of  the  heart.  Arthur  was  reminded  by  all 
around  him,  of  this  noble  triumph  of  mind  and  prin- 
ciple over  the  greatest  physical  obstacles ;  and  he 
strongly  felt  the  contrast  which  it  presented  to  the 
habits  and  opinions  of  the  Acadian  settlers,  with 
whom  he  had  been  lately  associated.  The  bitter 
enmity  of  La  Tour  and  D'Aulney,  the  struggle  for 
pre-eminence,  which  kept  them  continually  at  strife, 
had  deadened  every  social  affection  and  aroused 
the  most  fierce  and  selfish  passions.  They  had  at- 
tempted to  colonize  a  portion  of  the  New  World, 
from  interested  and  ambitious  motives ;  their  fol- 
lowers were  in  general  actuated  by  a  hope  of  gain, 
or  the  mere  spirit  of  adventure,  which  character- 
ized that  age  ;  and,  if  religion  was  at  all  consider- 
ed, it  was  only  from  motives  of  policy.  The  purity 
and  disinterestedness  of  the  New-England  fathers 
w  3  more  striking  from  the  comparison;  and,  as 
Stanhope  mused  on  them,  he  wondered  that  the 
light  sacrifices  he  had  himself  been  compelled  to 
make,  could  ever  have  appeared  so  important.  His 
country,  his  profession,  his  hopes  of  honorable  ad- 
vancement, were  indeed  abandoned  ;  but  dearer 


RITAHS  OF  ACADIA. 


255 


iiopes  had  succeeded  the  dreams  of  ambition ;  and 
what  country  would  not  become  a  paradise,  when 
brightened  by  the  smiles  of  affection  ! 

His  reverie,  by  a  very  lover-like  process,  had 
thus  revolved  back  to  the  point  where  it  commenc- 
ed, when  he  was  reminded  of  the  lapse  of  time,  by 
the  sound  of  a  bell,  which  floated  sweetly  on  the 
still  air,  and  announced  the  stated  hour  for  the  se- 
cond services  of  the  day.  He  was  slowly  turning 
to  obey  its  summons,  when  his  attention  was  at- 
tracted by  the  appearance  of  a  vessel ;  and  he 
again  paused  in  curiosity  and  suspense.  It  was  a 
pinnace  of  large  size,  and  sailed  slowly  over  the 
smooth  waters,  frequently  tacking  to  catch  the 
light  breeze,  which  scarcely  swelled  the  canvass. 
Thp  wavfts  curled,  as  if  in  fipnrt,  around  the  prow, 
leaving  a  sinuous  track  behind,  as  it  came  up 
through  the  channel,  north  of  Castle  Island,  like  a 
solitary  bird,  skimming  the  surface  of  the  deep,  and 
spreading  its  snowy  wings  towards  some  region  of 
rest.  As  it  entered  the  spacious  harbor,  the  gay 
streamer,  which  hung  idly  from  the  mainmast,  was 
raised  by  a  passing  breeze,  displaying  the  colors  of 
France,  united  with  the  private  arms  of  Mons. 
d*Aulney. 

The  vessel  soon  attracted  gt;neral  observation,  but 
the  sanctity  of  the  day  prevented  any  open  expres- 
sion of  curiosity  or  surprise.  It  was  permitted  to  an- 
chor, unmolested  by  the  formidable  battery  on  the 
eastern  hill ;  the  bell  continued  to  ring  for  public 


S 


256 


ItlVALS   OF  ACADIA. 


worship,  and  t^e  citizens  to  assemble  as  usual. 
But,  situated  as  the  colonists  then  were,  with  re- 
gard to  Acadii,  the  arrival  of  a  vessel  from  thence, 
was  a  matter  of  some  importance.  Certain  nego- 
ciations  had  already  taken  place  between  the  ma- 
gistrates of  Boston  and  M.  d'Aulney,  and  the  latter 
had  proposed  sending  commissioners  to  arrange  a 
treaty.  The  magistrates,  rightly  conjecturing  that 
they  had  at  length  arrived,  sent  two  officers  to  re- 
ceive ihem  at  the  water's  side,  and  conduct  them 
quietly  to  an  inn.  Wishing,  however,  to  treat 
them  with  suitable  respect,  when  the  services  of  the 
day  were  over,  a  guard  of  musketeers  was  despatch- 
ed to  escort  them  to  the  governor's  house,  where 
they  were  invited  to  remain,  during  their  stay  in 
town. 

A  treaty  was  commenced  on  the  following  day  ; 
and,  throughout  its  progress,  the  utmost  ceremony 
and  attention  was  observed  towards  the  commis- 
sioners, which  policy  or  politeness  could  suggest. 
Mutual  aggressions  were  complained  of,  and  mu- 
tual concessions  made ;  and  though  D'Aulney  had, 
in  truth,  been  hitherto  faithless  to  his  promises,  the 
Bostonians  evidently  feared  his  growing  power, 
and  strongly  inclined  to  conciliatory  measures. 
Under  these  circumstances,  an  amnesty  was,  with- 
out much  difficulty,  concluded ;  and  the  commis- 
sioners soon  after  returned,  well  satisfied,  to  Pe- 
nobscot. 

This  treaty,  for  a  time,  seemed  almost  fatal  to 


mVALS  OF  JLCABIA. 


257 


tlie  prospects  of  La  Tour.  It  restrained  the  colo- 
nists from  rendering  him  any  further  assistance ; 
and  there  was  every  probability  that  D'Aulney 
would  at  length  effect  his  long  meditated  designs 
against  fort  St.  John's.  Stanhope  felt  much  anxie- 
ty respecting  Lucie's  situation  ;  but  as  winter  was 
now  rapidly  approaching,  it  was  hardly  possible 
that  any  hostile  operations  would  be  commenced, 
before  the  return  of  spring.  That  period,  he  trust- 
ed, would  fulfil  the  hopes  which  she  had  sanctioned,' 
and  place  her  under  his  own  protection;  and, 
through  the  autumn,  he  had  the  satisfaction  of 
hearing,  frequently  from  her,  by  means  of  the  ves- 
sels which  continued  to  trade  at  the  river,  with 
La  Tour.  With  extreme  surprise,  he  learned  that 
she  had  discovered  her  father,  in  the  mysterious 
priest ;  and,  strange  as  the  connection  seemed,  he 
felt  a  satisfaction,  in  knowing  that  she  could  claim 
a  natural  guardian,  till  he  was  permitted  to  remove 
her  from  a  situation,  which  was  so  constantly  ex^ 
posed  to  danger. 


22* 


258 


BIVALS  OF  AOADIA. 


Th*  wars  are  over, 

The  spring  is  come  ; 
The  bride  and  her  lover 
Have  sought  their  home  : 
They  are  happy,  we  rejoice ; 
Let  theW  hearts  have  an  echo  in  every  voice  ! 

Lord  Byroit, 


Never  did  months  revolve  more  slowly,  than 
through  that  winter,  to  the  impatient  Stanhope. 
During  its  inclemency,  all  communication  with  the 
French  settlements  ceased,  and  he,  of  course,  heard 
nothing  of  Lucie, — a  suspension  of  intercourse 
which  was  almost  insupportable.  By  the  earliest 
approach  of  spring,  however,  the  traders  and  fish- 
ermen again  adventured  their  barks  on  the  stormy 
bay  of  Fundy,  and  the  icy  shores  of  Newfoundland. 
Boston  harbor,  which  had  been  sealed,  for  several 
months,  by  the  severe  cold,  then  characteristic  of 
the  climate,  was  freed  by  the  bright  sun  and  genial 
gales  of  that  vernal  season.  Numerous  vessels 
floated  on  its  dancing  waves  ;  and  all  around,  the 
adjacent  shores  were  teeming  with  sights  and 
sounds  of  rural  industry. 


I     I 


BITAL8   OF  ACADIA. 


350 


It  was  shortly  rumored,  that  M.  d'Aulney  was 
preparing  to  attack  fort  St.  John's ;  some  even  af- 
firmed, that  his  vessels  had  already  been  seen,  ho- 
vering near  the  entrance  of  the  river.  Stanhope's 
extreme  anxiety  could  brook  no  farther  delay  ;  and, 
under  such  circumstances,  he  felt  acquitted  of  the 
obligation  which  Lucia's  request  had  imposed  on 
him,  and  at  liberty  to  anticipate  a  few  weeks  of  the 
time  appointed  for  his  return  to  her.  Early  in 
April,  therefore,  he  embarked  in  a  neat  pinnace, 
and  after  a  short  voyage,  reached  the  rugged  coast 
of  Acadia.  Daylight  was  closing,  as  he  approach- 
ed St.  John's;  but  fortunately  the  clear  twilight 
served  to  show  him  the  changes  which  had  taken 
place  there.  Several  armed  vessels  blockaded  the 
river,  and  the  standard  of  M.  d'Aulney  waved  tri- 
umphantly from  the  walls  of  the  fort. 

These  signs  of  conquest  could  not  be  mistaken  : 
the  late  haughty  possessor  had  evidently  suffered 
defeat;  but  what  fate  had  overtaken  him,  and 
where  had  his  family  found  a  refuge  ?  Lucie,  the 
sharer  of  their  fortunes, — where  should  he  seek  her  ?' 
was  the  most  anxious  thought  of  Stanhope ;  and 
painful  solicitude  checked  the  tide  of  joyous  ex- 
pectation which  he  had  so  sanguinely  indulged. 
Hoping  to  obtain  information  from  some  peasant 
in  the  neighborhood,  he  anchored  a  few  miles  be- 
low the  fort,  and  throwing  himself  into  a  small 
boat,  proceeded  alone  to  a  well-remembered  land- 
ing-place.   He  steered  his  bark  cautiously  along 


260 


AlVAXS   OF  A04OIA. 


the  shores  of  the  bay,  which  were  already  darkened 
by  the  evening  shadows ;  and,  rowing  with  all  his 
strength,  soon  reached  the  destined  spot,  and  sprang 
eagerly  upon  the  strand.  Ascending  an  eminence, 
the  country  opened  widely  around  him  ;  the  smoke 
curied  quietly  from  the  scattered  cottages,  apr'  the 
scene  was  unchanged  since  he  last  saw  it,  except 
from  the  variation  of  the  seasons.  The  fields, 
which  were  then  crowned  with  the  riches  of  au- 
tumn, had  since  been  seared  by  wintry  frosts, 
which  now  slowly  relaxed  their  rigid  grasp.  Faint 
streaks  of  verdure  began  to  tinge  the  sunny  valleys, 
though  patches  of  snow  still  lingered  within  their 
cold  recesses.  A  thousand  silver  rills  burst  from 
the  moistened  earth,  and  leaped  down  the  sloping 
banks,  chiming,  in  soft  concert,  with  the  evening 
breeze.  Every  swelling  bud  exhaled  the  perfumed 
breath  of  spring  ;  and  all  nature  seemed  awake  to 
welcome  her  bland  approach. 

The  p^  asantry  of  the  country  were  evidently 
unmolested,  and  probably  cared  little  for  the  change 
of  masters.  Arthur  had,  as  yet,  seen  no  living 
being  ;  and  he  hastened  to  Annette's  cottage,  which 
stood  at  a  short  distance,  half  hid  by  the  matted 
foliage  of  some  sheltering  pines.  It  no  longer  wore 
the  air  of  open  hospitality,  which  once  distinguished 
it;  the  gay  voice  of  its  mistress  ever  carolling  at 
her  labour,  was  silent,  and  the  closed  door  and 
casements  seemed  to  portend  some  sad  reverse. 
Stanhope  paused  an   instant;  and   as  he  leaned 


0 


>i^ 


RIVALS   OF  ACADIA. 


2G1 


against  a  rude  fence  which  enclosed  the  garden 
plat,  his  eye  rested  on  a  slender  mound  of  earth, 
covered  with  fresh  sods,  and  surrounded  by  sap- 
lings of  willow,  newly  planted.  It  was  evidently 
a  grave ;  and,  with  a  chilled  heart,  and  excited 
feelings,  he  leaped  the  slight  enclosure,  fearing,  he 
knew  not,  dared  not  ask  himself,  what  unknown 
evil. 

At  that  moment,  he  heard  light  approaching  foot- 
steps ;  he  turned  and  saw  a  female  advancing 
slowly,  and  too  much  engrossed  by  her  own  thoughts 
to  have  yet  observed  him.  He  could  not  be  de- 
ceived ;  he  sprang  to  meet  her,  repeating  the  name 
of  "  Luci^  ;"  and  an  eager  exclamation  of  "  Stan- 
hope, is  it  possible  !"  expressed  her  joyful  recog- 
liiliuii. 

"  Why  are  you  so  pale  and  pensive,  dear  Lucie," 
askod  Stanhope,  regarding  her  with  solicitude,  when 
the  first  rapturous  emotions  had  subsided ;  "  and 
what  brings  you  to  this  melancholy  spot  at  such  a 
lonely  hour  ?" 

"Oh,  Arthur,"  she  replied,  "you  know  not  half 
the  changes  which  have  taken  place  since  you  were 
here,  or  you  wou'd  not  ask  why  I  am  pale  and  pen- 
sive !  this  is  the  grave  of  my  kindest  relative ;  till 
you  came,  I  almost  thought  of  my  last  friend  !" 

"  Good  heavens  !  of  your  aunt,  Lucie  ;  of  Mad- 
ame de  la  Tour  ?" 

A  burst  of  tears,  which  she  could  no  longer 
restrain,  was  Lucie's  answer  j  her  feelings  had,  of 


i 


..j^j*". --•*,- 


JG2 


BIVALS   OF   ACADIA. 


*1 


late,  been  severely  tried,  and  it  was  many  moments 
before  her  own  exertions,  or  the  soothings  of  affec- 
tion succeeded  in  calming  her  emotions.  A  long 
conversation  ensued ;  each  had  much  to  say,  and 
Lucie,  in  particular,  many  events  to  communicate. 
But  as  the  narrative  was  often  interrupted  by  ques- 
tion and  remark,  and  delayed  by  the  expression  of 
those  hopes  and  sentiments  which  lovers  are  wont 
to  intersperse  in  their  discourse,  we  shall  omit  such 
superfluities,  and  sum  up,  as  briefly  as  possible,  all 
that  is  necessary  to  elucidate  our  story. 

Madame  de  la  Tour's  constitution  was  too  deli- 
cate to  bear  the  rigor  of  a  northern  climate,  and 
from  her  first  arrival  in  Acadia,  her  health  began 
almost  imperceptibly  to  decline.  She  never  en- 
IJrely  recovered  from  the  severe  indisposition  which 
attacked  her  in  the  autumn,  though  the  vigor  and 
cheerfulness  of  her  mind  long  resisted  the  depress- 
ing influence  of  disease.  But  she  was  perfectly 
aware  of  her  danger  even  before  the  bloom  faded 
from  her  cheek  sufficiently  to  excite  the  alarm  of 
those  around  her.  It  was  a  malady  which  had 
proved  fatal  to  many  of  her  family ;  and  she  h".l 
too  often  witnessed  its  insidious  approaches  in 
others,  to  be  deceived  when  she  was  herself  the 
victim.  Towards  the  close  of  winter,  she  was  con- 
fined entirely  to  her  apartn-ient,  and  Lucie,  and  the 
faithful  Annette,  were  her  kind  and  unwearied 
attendants.  Her  decline  ivas  from  that  time  rapid, 
but  it  was  endured  with  a  fortitude  which  had 


■ » .*•*»-'  * 


IIIVAI.8  07  ACADIA. 


263 


distinguished  her  in  every  situation  of  life.  Still 
young,  and  with  much  to  render  existence  pleasant 
and  desirable,  she  met  its  close  with  cheerful  resig- 
nation, surrounded  by  the  weeping  objects  of  her 
love.  On  Lucie's  affectionate  heart  her  untimely 
death  left  a  deep  and  lasting  impression.  She  felt 
desolate  indeed,  thus  deprived  of  the  only  relative, 
with  whom  she  could  claim  connexion  und  sym- 
pathy. 

The  parental  tie  so  lately  discovered,  and  which 
had  opened  to  Lucie  a  new  spring  of  tenderness, 
became  a  source  of  painful  anxiety.  Father  Gil- 
bert,— so  we  shall  still  call  him, — had  yielded  for 
a  brief  season  to  the  indulgence  of  those  natural 
feelings,  which  were  awakened  by  the  recognition 
of  h:s  daughter.  But  his  ascetic  habits,  and  the 
blind  bigotry  of  his  creed,  soon  regained  their 
influence  over  his  mind,  and  led  him  to  distrust  the 
most  virtuous  emotions  of  his  heart.  The  self- 
inflicted  penance,  which  estranged  him  from  her, 
in  infancy,  he  deemed  still  binding ;  and  the  vow 
which  he  had  taken  to  lead  a  life  of  devotion,  he 
thought  no  circumstances  could  annul.  As  the 
priest  of  God,  he  must  conquer  every  earthly  pas- 
sion ;  the  work  to  which  he  was  dedicated  yet 
remained  unaccomplished,  and  the  sins  of  his  early 
life  were  still  unatoned. 

Thus  he  reasoned,  blinded  by  the  false  dogmas 
of  a  superstitious  creed ;  and  the  arguments  of 
Madame  do  la  Tour,  the  tears  and  entreaties  of 


y 


264 


BIVALS   OF  ACADIA. 


Lucie,  had  been  alike  disregarded.  The  return  ol' 
the  priest,  who  usually  officiated  at  the  fort,  was 
the  signal  for  him  to  depart  on  a  tour  of  severe 
duty  to  the  most  distant  settlements  of  Acadia. 
Nothing  could  change  his  determination ;  he  parted 
from  Lucie  with  much  emotion,  solemnly  conjuring 
her  to  renounce  her  spiritual  errors,  and  embrace 
the  faith  of  the  only  true  church.  As  his  child, 
he  assured  her,  he  should  pray  for  her  happiness, 
as  a  heretic,  for  her  conversion  ;  but  he  relinquished 
the  authority  of  a  father,  which  his  profession  for- 
bade him  to  exercise,  and  left  her  to  the  guidance 
of  her  own  conscience.  From  that  time,  Lucie 
had  neither  seen  nor  heard  from  him  ;  but  solici- 
tude for  his  fate  pressed  heavily  on  her  heart,  and 
she  shed  many  secret  and  bitter  tears  for  her  unfor- 
tunate parent. 

Soon  after  the  death  of  Madame  de  la  Tour, 
Lucie  removed  her  residence  to  the  cottage  of 
Annette.  The  fort  was  no  longer  a  suitable  or 
pleasant  abode  for  her.  Mons.  de  la  Tour  disre- 
garded the  wishes  which  his  lady  had  expressed  in 
her  last  illness, — that  Lucie  might  be  allowed  to  fol- 
low her  own  inclinations, — and  renewed  his  endea- 
vours to  force  her  into  a  marriage  with  De  Valettc. 
But  his  threats  and  persuasions  were  both  firmly 
resisted,  and  proved  equally  ineffectual  to  accom- 
plish his  purpose.  De  Valctte,  indeed,  had  too 
much  pride  and  generosity  to  urge  his  suit  after  a 
decided  rejection  ;  and  he  was  vexed  by  his  uncle's 


# 


BIVAI.8  BF  AGADIA. 


265 


selfish  pertinacity.  lo  the  early  period  of  his 
attachment  to  Lucie,  he  accidentally  discovered 
that  most  of  her  fortune  had  become  involved^  in 
the  private  speculations  of  her  guardian,  and  was 
probably  lost  to  her.  But  he  often  declared,  that 
he  asked  no  dowry  with  such  a  bride,  and.  if  he 
could  obtain  her  hp.iid,  he  should  never  seek  redress 
for  the  patrimony  she  had  lost.  La  Tour,  conscious 
that  he  had  wronged  her,  and  fearing  that  no  other 
suitor  would  prove  equally  disinterested,  was  on 
that  account  anxious  to  promote  a  union,  which 
would  so  easily  free  him  from  the  penalty  f  his 
oftence. 

Early  in  the  spring,  La  Toi:r  left  St.  John's  for 
Newfoundland,  hoping  to  obtain  such  assistance 
from  Sir  David  Kirk,  who  was  then  commanding 
there,  as  would  enable  him  to  retain  possession  of 
his  fort.  He  was  accompanied  by  De  Valette,  who 
intended  to  sail  fiom  thence  for  his  native  country. 
It  was  not  till  after  their  departure,  that  Luci^< 
learned  the  rpJuced  ?tate  of  her  finances  from 
Jacques,  the  husband  of  Annette,  who  had  long 
enjoyed  the  confidence  of  his  lord,  and  been  con- 
versant with  his  pecuniary  affairs.  She  was  natu- 
rally vexed  and  indignant  at  the  heartless  and 
unprincipled  conduct  of  her  guardian ;  though  there 
was  a  romantic  pleasure  in  the  idea,  that  it  would 
only  test,  more  fully,  the  strength  and  constancy  of 
Stanhopes  attachment.  Woman  is  seldom  selfish 
or  ambitious  in  her  affection ;  Lucie  loved,  and  she 
23 


41 


I    ' 


^(i 


266 


RIVALS   OV  ACADIA. 


[■'  I 


felt  still  rich  in  the  possession  of  a  true  and  vir- 
tuous heart. 

The  absence  of  La  Tour  was  eagerly  embraced 
by  D'Aulney,  as  a  favorable  opportunity  to  accom- 
plish his  meditated  designs.  Scarcely  had  tiie 
former  doubled  Cape  Sable,  when  his  enemy  sailed 
up  the  bay  with  a  powerful  force,  and  anchore<l 
before  St.  John's.  Tiie  intimidated  garrison  made 
barely  a  show  of  resistance,  and  the  l(»ng  contested 
fort  was  surrendered  without  a  struggle.  D'Aul- 
ney treated  the  conquered  with  a  lenity,  which 
won  many  to  his  cause ;  and  he  permitted  the 
neighboring  inhhbitants  to  remain  undisturbed  on 
a  promise  of  submission,  which  was  readily  accord- 
ed to  him. 

Mr.  Broadhead,  the  chaplain  of  Madame  de  la 
Tour,  found  refuge  in  the  cottage  of  Annette,  who 
charitably  disregarded  religious  prejudices,  and 
treated  him  with  the  utmost  kindness  and  attention, 
from  respect  to  the  memory  of  her  mistress.  But, 
having  lost  the  protection  of  his  patroness,  he 
could  no  longer,  as  he  said,  "  consent  to  sojourn 
in  the  tents  of  the  ungodly  idolaters,"  and  medi- 
tated a  return  to  S«^ot!and.  To  facilitate  this 
object,  he  gladly  accepted  a  passage  in  Stanhope's 
vessel  to  Boston;  from  whence,  it  was  probable,  he 
might  soon  find  an  opportunity  to  rccross  the  Atlan- 
tic. The  same  reasons  induced  Jacipios  and  An- 
nette als*'  to  become  their  fellow-passengers;  they 
were  wearie<l  of  the  toil  and  uncerluiuty  inscpa- 


RIVALS  Ot*  ACJlDIA. 


267 


rablc  from  a  new  settlement,  and  sighed  for  the 
humble  |)leasure«  they  had  once  enjoyed  among 
the  gay  peasantry  of  France. 

J'jvery  thing  thus  satisfactorily  explained  and 
arranged,  no  obHiacle  remained  to  delay  the  mar- 
riage of  Stanhope  and  Lucie.  The  ceremony  was 
accordingly  performed  by  Mr.  Broadhead  ;  and 
tiicy  inunediatcly  bude  a  lust  farewell  to  the  wild 
regions  of  Acadia.  (Mear  skies  and  favorable 
gales,  present  enjoyment,  and  the  bright  hopes  of 
futurity,  rendered  their  short  vryyage  delightful,  and 
seemed  the  happy  presage  of  a  calm  and  prospe- 
rous life.  Stanhope,  with  the  fond  pride  of  grati- 
fied affection,  presented  his  bride  to  his  expecting 
parents ;  and  never  was  a  daughter  received  with 
more  cordiality  and  tenderness.  They  had  known 
and  loved  her,  in  the  pleasant  abode  of  their  native 
land  ;  and  their  maturer  judgments  sanctioned  his 
youthful  choice.  Kvery  succeeding  year  strength- 
ened their  conlidence  and  attachment;  her  sweet- 
ness and  vivacity,  her  exemplary  goodness  and 
devotion  to  her  husband,  created  a  union  of  feeling 
and  interest,  yvhich  was  the  joy  of  their  declining 
years. 

The  happiness  of  Arthur  and  Lucie  was  perma- 
nent ;  and,  if  not  wholly  exempted  from  the  evils 
which  ever  cling  to  this  state  of  trial,  tlieir  virtuous 
principlep  were  an  unfailing  support,  their  mutual 
tenderness,  an  exhaustless  consolation.  The  wealth 
and  distinction,  which  once  courted  them,  were 


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Ci 


M 


268 


aiYALS   OF  AGADIA. 


unregretted ;  the  green  vales  of  England,  and  the 
vine-covered  hills  of  France,  lingered  in  their  re- 
membrance, only  as  a  bright  and  fleeting  vision. 
It  was  their  ambition  to  fulfil  the  duties  of  moral 
and  intellectual  beings  ;  and  the  rugged  climate  of 
Nevir-F.ngland  became  the  chosen  home  of  their 
affections. 


We  feel  pledged,  by  the  rules  of  honorable 
authorship,  to  satisfy  any  curiosity  which  may  exist, 
respecting  the  remaining  characters  of  our  narra- 
tive ;  and  if  the  reader's  interest  is  already  wearied, 
he  is  at  liberty  to  omit  this  brief,  concluding  para- 
graph. 

De  Valette  embarked  at  Newfoundland,  in  a 
vessel  bound  for  some  English  port,  which  was 
driven  by  stress  of  weather,  on  the  Irish  coast. 
The  crew  barely  escaped  with  their  lives,  and  the 
young  Frenchman,  by  a  {re^k  of  fortune,  was  thrown 
upon  the  hospitality  of  a  gentleman,  who  cultivated 
an  hereditary  estate  in  the  vicinity.  The  kind 
urgency  of  his  host  could  not  be  resisted  ;  and  the 
attractions  of  an  only  child  bade  fair  to  heal  the 
wounds  which  Lucie's  coldness  had  inflicted.  His 
stay  was  protracted  from  day  to  day  ;  and  in  short 
with  the  usual  constancy  of  despairing  iovcrs, — 


BIVALS   OV   ACADIA. 


2G9 


lie  soon  learned  to  think  the  fair  daughter  of  the 
*'  emerald  isle"  even  more  charming  than  the  dark- 
eyed  maiden  of  his  own  sunny  clime.  Her  smiles 
were  certainly  more  encouraging ;  and,  at  the  end 
of  a  few  weeks,  De  Valettc  led  her  to  the  bridal 
altar. 

La  Tour  was  disappointed  in  his  application  to 
Sir  David  Kirk,  and,  for  a  time,  his  tide  of  fortune 
seemed  entirely  to  have  ebbed.  He  again  visited 
Boston,  but  did  not  meet  with  a  very  cordial  recep- 
tion, though  a  few  merchants  entrusted  him  with  a 
considerable  sum  of  money,  on  some  private  specu- 
lation. This  he  disposed  of,  in  his  own  way,  and 
never  took  the  trouble  to  render  any  account,  or 
make  the  least  restitution  to  the  owners.  The 
death  of  D'Aulney,  however,  which  happened  in 
the  course  of  a  fciv  years,  reversed  his  prospects, 
and  reinstated  him  in  all  his  possessions.  He  was 
firmly  established  in  the  sole  government  of  Aca- 
dia ;  and,  soon  after,  he  contracted  a  second  mar- 
riage with  the  object  of  his  early  affection, — the 
still  beautiful  widow  of  M.  d'Aulney.  With  no  ri- 
val to  dispute  his  authority,  his  remaining  life  was 
passed  in  tranquillity ;  the  colony,  relieved  from 
strife  and  contention,  began  to  flourish,  and  his  de- 
scendants for  many  years  enjoyed  their  inheritance 
unmolested. 

Arthur  Stanhope,  a  few  months  after  his  union 
with  Lucie,  was  appointed  the  agent  of  some  public 


f 


4 


^ 


270 


BIVALS  or  ACADIA. 


business,  wliich  required  a  voyage  to  Pemaquid.  The 
recollection  of  father  Gilbert  forcibly  recurred  to 
him,  when  he  found  himself  so  near  the  shores  of 
Mount  Desart, — a  place  which  the  priest  had  fre- 
quented, probably  for  its  very  loneliness,  or  per- 
haps, from  some  peculiar  associations.  It  was  pos- 
sible he  might  again  find  him  there,  or  hear  some 
tidings  which  would  relieve  Lucie's  anxiety  re- 
specting him  ;  and,  in  this  hope,  he  one  day  sought 
its  sequestered  shades.  The  sun  was  declining, 
when  he  moored  his  little  bark,  and  proceeded 
alone  through  the  same  path,  which  he  remember- 
ed, on  a  former  occasion,  to  have  trodden.  The 
open  plain  soon  burst  upon  his  view  ;  and,  to  his 
surprise,  the  prostrate  wooden  cross  was  again 
erected  in  the  midst  of  it.  A  figure  knelt  at  its 
foot  ;  Arthur  approached, — the  tall,  attenuated 
form,  the  dark,  flowing  garments  could  not  be  mis- 
taken ; — it  was  indeed  father  Gilbert.  Supposing 
him  engaged  in  some  act  of  devotion,  Stanhope 
waited  several  moments,  silent,  and  unwilling  to 
disturb  him.  But  he  continued  perfectly  motion- 
less ; — Arthur  advanced  still  closer  ; — one  hand 
grasped  the  cross,  the  other  held  a  small  crucifix, 
which  he  always  wore  suspended  from  his  neck. 
A  glow  of  sunset  rested  on  his  pale  features  ;  his 
eyes  were  closed,  and  a  triumphant  smile  lingered 
on  his  parted  lips.  Arthur  started,  and  his  blood 
chilled  as  he  gazed  at  him ;  he  touched  his  hand, — 


m 


BITALS   OV  ACADIA. 


271 


It  was  cold  and  stiff; — he  pressed  his  fingers  on  his 
heart, — it  had  ceased  to  beat! — Fcther  Gilbert  was 
no  more  ! 

The  spirit  seemed  to  have  just  burst  its  weary 
bondage,  and  without  a  struggle  ;  the  grassy  turf 
was  his  dying  couch,  and  the  breeze  of  the  desert 
sighed  a  requiem  for  his  departing  soul ! 


i 


THE   END. 


# 


) 


